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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24121462">Shiner</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/iliveatlast/pseuds/iliveatlast'>iliveatlast</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Shiner-verse [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Walking Dead (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canonical Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Homophobia, Racism, Slurs, Will Dixon Being an Asshole, Young Daryl Dixon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:34:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,036</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24121462</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/iliveatlast/pseuds/iliveatlast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl's five when his mama dies and he learns dead people don't come back. He's fourteen when he learns that's not as true as he thought.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Shiner-verse [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1743010</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>121</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Miles Ahead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Daryl was five when his mama died and that's old enough to understand people don't come back. He remembers the funeral sort of, him and Merle in church clothes, clothes on loan from a friend of a friend of his mothers because all their clothes are gone, burned up with Mama. But even before he'd never worn clothes like them - the shirt weirdly stiff, the pants creased and too tight. They didn't lend him shoes so he wore his sneakers, which smelled ever so faintly of smoke. They did give him a tie which was soft and silk and he kept running his hand down it until his pop slapped his fingers and told him to quit. Merle tied the tie for him but Merle'd hardly ever worn a tie either so it's lopsided and crooked but Daryl doesn't mind. It's smooth and cool under his fingers as he surreptitiously rubs it, staring at Mama's coffin.</p><p>Merle was fifteen and not wearing a tie. His mama's friend's friend didn't have any clothes Merle's size, and so they'd borrowed stuff from their dad's cousin Benjy. Benjy'd given Dad and Merle both black pants and white shirts but there was only one tie and one jacket. Dad got the jacket and tie, and Merle had sneered and said good, good because otherwise they'd match and he'd rather die than look like him in front of anybody. Dad'd popped him a good one, banged him against the walls of the RV Mama's friend Delores was letting them stay in until they could figure something else out. So they went to the church all washed up and in church clothes and Merle with a big red splotch on his face, which by the end of the service was turning into a nice shiner. Daryl had thought that was comforting, sort of - because at least Merle looked like himself that way. </p><p>Before everything started, some guy in a real suit came over and leaned down and said "Would you like to say goodbye to your mommy?" And Daryl shrugged because he thought his ma was dead and even alive he couldn't ever really ever remember saying bye to her. She was just always there, in the kitchen with the radio playing, smoking cigarette after cigarette and playing solitaire. Sometimes she sang to him at night, her voice low and often a little bit slurred, but sweet, her fingers brushing down his hair. </p><p>Merle had said "What's he gonna say goodbye to, a pile of fucking ashes," and the guy backed away pretty quick then and his dad hadn't even yelled at Merle about it, which is how Daryl knew it'd been a dumb question. </p><p>Afterwards, after the church service and the burial, after they all went back to his grandfather's house and strangers told him how sorry they were for his loss, and he'd fallen asleep on a sofa and woken up to Merle scooping him up and slinging him over his shoulder, so gently, after that he'd looked up at Merle and asked "Is Mama ever coming back?"</p><p>Which he'd known wasn't really going to happen. He'd known that, even at six. He'd been out hunting already, had seen deer running and squirrels skittering and rabbits hopping along, and he had seen them all get stopped and skinned and eaten. He knew that dead things didn't get back up. He'd just been confused, he'd been asleep, he'd been dreaming about saying goodbye, and Merle would tease him for dumb questions but Daryl hadn't thought he'd get teased for this. He'd just been double checking. That's all. </p><p>And Merle didn't tease. Merle's whole face had twisted to one side, which looked like it hurt his puffy eye, and his Grandma Patsy, his mama's mama, had put her hand over her mouth and had said "Oh, Daryl, baby." But his dad had just grabbed him, grabbed him out of Merle's arms so fast Daryl thought he'd fall, but he didn't fall. He dangled there, his dad's hands gripping his shoulders, his feet not touching the floor, and his dad shook him and said "She's dead, you stupid shit. Dead people don't come back." He could smell the booze on his dad's breath as he'd hung there, felt the tie pulling at his neck until his dad dropped him and Merle scooped him up again.</p><p>And his Grandma Patsy cried and his Grandpa Clyde cussed, <em>fucking sonuvabitch you let him down you killed Trisha and if you touch a hair on those boys heads I'll</em>, but Daryl didn't remember anything after that. They'd gone back to the RV and then they'd moved north, to the mountains, and there weren't any of Mama's friends or Mama's relatives up there and after a couple years Merle was hardly there either - first in juvie, then in boot camp. Soon it was just him and dad and the woods. Daryl liked the woods. They had an order to them. They made sense. Things grew in a particular way and season and poisonous things never stopped being poisonous and tracks were there to be followed. His dad taught him a lot of things about the woods - about how to walk without being heard, about how to field-dress a deer and how to set snares, how to fire a crossbow and light a campfire, how to navigate by the stars. He'd also taught him how to not talk back and keep his head down and do as he's told. Do what I say or I'll make you. Dead things died and didn't come back. <br/>
<br/>
Daryl is fourteen when he learns that is no longer true. <br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p>"Pack your shit. Heading out in ten."</p><p>The statement wasn't anything new. His dad'd say it a couple times a month, sometimes more. When things got too hot in town, when he needed to lay low after a bad deal or if they were gonna come up short on cash and had to catch dinner, or sometimes just because he wanted to. Will Dixon liked the woods too, Daryl thought. He was calmer there, sometimes, more relaxed. Maybe because pills and tracking didn't mix, and he'd only bring beer with him. But every couple of weeks he'd breeze in and shout "pack your shit" and Daryl'd grab his things - most of them not unpacked since last time - and go load up the pickup. The order wasn't new, but the look in his dad's eyes was. He looked freaked, almost tweaking, and Daryl felt himself trying to become smaller as he grabs his pack, his crossbow, the bolts he'd been trying to carve himself, his jack knife. He doesn't need to change - his dad sneered at people with day glo windbreakers and techy boots. "Fucking pioneers didn't have any of that shit, they made it okay," he'd grunt. His jeans and his jacket are the same he wears everywhere, his boots too. <br/>
<br/>
Daryl's ready first but his dad doesn't even seem like he's started - he's ransacking through the kitchen, like he's looking for food, but Daryl could have told him there ain't nothing there. There's some jerky in the cabinet and a six pack in the fridge but that's been all there is for days. Daryl's starving already, he'd been thinking about going out himself this weekend if Dad didn't. His dad's shoving shit in anyway, the beer and the jerky and a bag of uncooked popcorn and the MREs, and that's when Daryl feels even more spooked. The MREs are for emergencies - they're not to be touched unless it's the end of the fucking world, Daryl knows that. He's looked at them sometimes, when his dad's been on a bender and he's so hungry he feels like a fist is punching through his stomach, but he's never eaten one. Not worth it to get full if pretty soon after you'd be dead. <br/>
<br/>
"The fuck you staring at? Get my shit if you're done then, Jesus, I need to tell you everything?" His dad's gone into his bedroom and Daryl thinks he's packing his stash. Daryl's not supposed to know where it is but the cabin isn't that big. You can hear everything, including the thunk and drag of his dad pulling up the floorboards in the middle of the night.  <br/>
<br/>
Daryl doesn't need to be told twice and books it to the garage where his dad's stuff is. He doesn't really linger over it - he does a quick check and he thinks everything is there, but he doesn't want to open up anything and get accused of snooping in shit that ain't his. But the backpack feels full and the hunting rifle is cleaned and leaning up against it's usual spot, and Daryl is digging around for ammo when his dad appears in the garage. </p><p>He's got the handgun, and that's when Daryl gets really nervous. They never bring the handgun out with them - for one, it's fucking stupid to hunt with a handgun, and two, it's not legal and his dad's got enough of a record that getting caught would be a problem. That's strictly for target practice at home with his buddies, shooting beer bottles and birds, and brought along on jobs when Will needs some extra muscle. <br/>
<br/>
"Everything loaded up?"<br/>
<br/>
Daryl nods, drops the backpack in the rear of the pickup. He's about to stow the gun too, but his dad stops him. <br/>
<br/>
"Naw. You hold it. Shit's getting weird out there. Might need it."</p><p>No sooner does he say this then a scream goes up from somewhere - somewhere close. Daryl cranes his head around, trying to figure out where the sound is coming from, but Will's shoving him into the car, hand rough on his back.</p><p>And with that they're off, driving away from their cabin and into a whole new world.</p>
<hr/><p>Daryl waits until they're onto the highway to ask where they're going. </p><p>At that point, it's clear something is happening. There's people everywhere, crying and screaming, sirens echoing all over, some people just dead on the side of the road and other tearing each other apart. Daryl sees a guy with a hole in his throat chewing on a kids collarbone, the girl kicking and screaming and then going limp as they sped past. The radio is cutting in and out between official messages and panicked newscasters who sound part scared, part stunned. Like now the news has come and they don't know what they're meant to do with it.<br/>
<br/>
"Race war," his dad says when Daryl asks what's happening. <br/>
<br/>
Daryl is watches as a sweet looking little old lady in bedroom slippers and socks jumps a man and bites his ear off of his head. They're both white. <br/>
<br/>
"People like that was never people," his dad explains, pointing to a group of black guys running. "Fucking animals under the skin. Always knew it. Now it's just coming out, that's all."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl doesn't say anything. His dad doesn't look sure, and Will Dixon hates it when Daryl makes him feel unsure. Daryl just grips the rifle and keeps the windows rolled up tight.<br/>
<br/>
The radio crackles, and the information about the Atlanta Safe Zone drones out again. Daryl looks at his dad. "That where we're going? Atlanta?"<br/>
<br/>
His dad snorts. "Fuck no. That's what they want - get us all penned up in the fucking city, outnumbered two to one by spics and coons and shit, get picked off one by one. Naw. Better to wait it out somewhere else, wait for reinforcements. Can't fight right in the city. Shit'll just jump straight out at you."<br/>
<br/>
"Then where -"<br/>
<br/>
"Use your eyes, where you think we're headed? The quarry, you dumbass."</p><p>The quarry. That'd work. They haven't been there for a while - they'd almost gotten caught hunting there without a license a year ago, and then they stopped, switched their grounds. Daryl wants to ask why but his dad had snapped "And that's enough with the fucking third degree, I'm trying to concentrate," as he got off the highway and started taking backroads. <br/>
<br/>
They get there before dark and it's like none of the rest ever happened. It's quiet there, a quiet Daryl knows well, the quiet of the woods. Just the rustle of leaves and the distant hum of crickets and croak of frogs. The air is cool coming off the water from the quarry, and Daryl sets up the tents where they usually do with no fuss. He gets the bucket and goes down to the water and by the time he gets back Dad has a fire going and Daryl puts the water over and they watch and wait for it to boil in silence. It could be any camping trip except for the MRE Dad handed him - Beef Stroganoff with Noodles, the package proclaims - and how Dad's got the handgun out and in his hand, waiting. Waiting. <br/>
<br/>
"Think Merle's eating like this?" he asks his dad, and his dad shrugs.</p><p>"Who the fuck knows," Will grunts. </p><p>Daryl bites his thumb - he hadn't thought of Merle at all in their flight, and it hits his gut that there were a lot of dead people back there and somewhere, at his boot camp maybe, Merle might be dead too. His dad smacks at his hand with the gun - not hard, but Daryl flinches. "Quit it with that."<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry." Daryl chews on the MRE instead - it's good but weird tasting, something almost plastic in the aftertaste. But Daryl's eaten worse, and it's hot and filling, and he eats it all. </p><p> They're about to get ready for bed when something snaps in the woods and Daryl almost jumps out of his skin. He's been wearing his bow on his back since they got here and it's on his shoulder and pointing in the darkness in a heartbeat, and his dad's got the handgun up even quicker. <br/>
<br/>
"Whose there?" his dad hollers. "Better speak 'fore we blow y'all fulla holes!" His voice is big and bluffing and Daryl feels almost sick with fear. That won't work, that won't stop them, some old lady in slippers is gonna come out and - </p><p>But it ain't the monsters at all. It's a man, a man with black hair and a gun of his own. "Whoa now, easy," he says, and Dad lowers his gun a tiny bit. Daryl can't tell if he should be relieved they're human or more worried that there are other people here. His pop and him aren't great with other people. "We got women and children here, man. Saw your fire from the road down there, just looking for a place to stop for the night."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you ain't found it yet," his dad said. "This place's occupied."</p><p>"More than enough room for all of us," the man says. The others are coming closer, now - there are kids, two of them, huddled behind two women. The guy with the gun is talking and bringing up the rear there's another guy, big, his arms crossed, glaring at Daryl and his dad.</p><p>"Now, see, I beg to differ," Will drawled. <br/>
<br/>
"Shane -" one of the women says, the dark haired one. "Maybe we should -"<br/>
<br/>
"Safety in numbers," the guy with the gun - Shane? - says.  "Might be better, have a few more people around to stand watch. Keep that fire going."<br/>
<br/>
"We were - on our way to Atlanta," the dark haired woman says, like that explains something. </p><p>"Whyn't you keep heading on down to Atlanta, then? Plenty a room there," his dad says.<br/>
<br/>
Shane stares at them. "There is no Atlanta. Not anymore." <br/>
<br/>
Daryl looks at them, then looks over their shoulder, due south, where Atlanta should be. He thinks he sees a smudge of smoke against the skyline. <br/>
<br/>
"Shane, we don't know that. We don't know it's all gone, there could still be -" the dark haired woman has her hands on a kids shoulder, a boy, and he almost looks like he's crying. <br/>
<br/>
"What the fuck you mean, there is no Atlanta? That's some fucking bullshit -"</p><p>"Dad," Daryl says, and he nudges his arm. When his dad glares at him, he nods towards the smoke.<br/>
<br/>
"Came outta nowhere," Shane says.  He shakes his head, like he's got water in his ears. "Napalm. Dropped it in the streets."<br/>
<br/>
"Who did?" his dad asks. His grip tightens on the gun. "Fucking ragheads, fucking -"<br/>
<br/>
"No," Shane says. "Our own guys. Military."<br/>
<br/>
A long moment. <br/>
<br/>
"Please, mister," the dark haired woman says. "We've got kids here."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, so do I, don't see me whining about it," his dad barks out. But he puts the gun away, tucked into the back of his pants. "Tonight. Y'all can stay tonight. But don't expect shit from us. We ain't hardly got enough for ourselves, let alone -"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," Shane says, and there's a flurry of movement. They all step forward, more illuminated by the firelight, and Daryl finds his eyes drawn to the yellow shield stenciled on Shane's shirt. He stiffens, looks at his dad - thinks about the stash in the car, the illegal handgun in his pants, thinks how much Will Dixon hates cops - but his doesn't seem to clock it and Daryl isn't going to bring it up. <br/>
<br/>
"Ed has a tent in the car," the other woman says. "We have two, actually, in case of -"<br/>
<br/>
The big guy grips her arm and she stops talking. <br/>
<br/>
"We'd appreciate anything you could spare," the dark haired woman says. She looks at Will, at Daryl, smiles at them - a little shaky. "Thank you. I'm Lori. This is Carl." The boy nods shyly. "That's Shane."<br/>
<br/>
Will grunts and sits down in front of the fire again - his hospitality is all used up. Daryl sits too. Can't stop looking at the smudge of smoke. Wonders what it looks like when a whole city just ain't there anymore. <br/>
<br/>
"We can do shifts," Shane says as the others get to work setting up tents. "Keeping watch. Make sure nothing creeps up on us in the dark."<br/>
<br/>
"Lord knows I had enough of that tonight," his dad drawls, and Shane doesn't look like he knows what to do with that. <br/>
<br/>
"I'll take first watch. If you'd like."<br/>
<br/>
"Fucking easiest watch. Naw. I'll take first." Will holds out a hand. "Well?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Gonna share that piece there? If I gotta watch over your ass, better have the right tools -"</p><p>Shane narrows his eyes. "Think between the bow and the Glock you've got enough to handle it." <br/>
<br/>
Will smiles toothily. "Oh, well, if you think so, <em>Officer</em>." He'd finally noticed the shield on Shane's shirt. He turns to look at Daryl. "Go on, then. Git some sleep. I'll wake you when it's your turn for watch."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl nods, grabs them empty MREs, heads back to the tent, listening to the snap of tent poles going together, the rustle of nylon and the quiet chatter of the newcomers. He leaves his bow loaded right next to him and lays down on top of his sleeping bag. Doesn't even take off his shoes. His tent is Merle's old one - it smells like Merle a little, like cigarettes and whiskey and something like sweat. His breathes it in and closes his eyes. He can smell the smoke of the campfire, hear his dad throwing another log on. The smell makes him think of his mother, of the whirl of sirens, of his legs trying to keep up with the other kids on their bikes. He thinks about what it means, that the dead are getting back up, what that means for everything else he thought he knew. He thinks about that and maybe he falls asleep or maybe he was just thinking real deep because all of a sudden his dad is shaking his tent and hissing at him, "Your fucking turn for watch. Get up."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl's up with his bow and staring at the fire when his dad comes back out. Daryl looks at him. <br/>
<br/>
"Where's my sleeping pad?<br/>
<br/>
Daryl shrugs. Shit. He hadn't checked good enough earlier. Something was bound to get left behind. He feels lucky it's something as nonessential as a sleeping pad. "You can have mine. 'S'in my tent."<br/>
<br/>
His dad whaps him around the back of the head, good. Daryl doesn't yelp, but he does reach up and rub at it. His hair is short - his dad'll buzz it down to nothing every so often, any time he thinks it's getting faggoty, so it's not like he's got good cover there, and it stings. <br/>
<br/>
"Of course I can fucking have yours, who do you think bought that for you? I want <em>mine</em>."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl shrugs again, stares at the fire. It's pointless to fight about it. Nothing Daryl can do now. "Musta left it behind. Sorry."<br/>
<br/>
"You're always fucking sorry. I don't need this shit, Daryl. Don't make me fucking sorry that I brought you along. Gotta pull your own goddamn weight around here, not make more work for fucking other people all the goddamn time. Damn." <br/>
<br/>
He doesn't do anything, just nods. He never knows what Dad wants in these situations - sometimes he wants him to talk but sometimes he tells him to just shut the hell up. It's always a gamble which to do. He gambled wrong. Dad whaps him around the head again, harder. "What'd I just say?"<br/>
<br/>
"Gotta pull my weight. I will. Sorry." <br/>
<br/>
"You better," Will snarls. He sees Daryl clutching his bow and he sneers. "Make sure it's the head, anything comes."</p><p>"Yessir."<br/>
<br/>
"Wake Officer Friendly over there in a couple hours. Make him pull his fucking piggy weight."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl just nods. His dad stomps off to Daryl's tent, then back to his own, sleeping pad and sleeping bag in tow. Well, shit.  <br/>
<br/>
Daryl thinks he hears a rustle from over behind one of the new tents, and he looks, expecting - he's not sure what. One of them things, lurching out, teeth bared? But he doesn't see anything. He grips his bow a little tighter anyway. Looks back into the fire. Watches the flames dance back and forth, flickering yellow and orange and red. Wonders what it means, if the dead don't stay that way. Wonders what it means for him as he rubs the back of his head. <br/>
<br/>
Wonders what's coming next.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Hunting Gathering</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He didn't have to wake Shane - the man appears at one in the morning, coming out of the borrowed tent with his gun, and he looks a little surprised to see Daryl there already. Daryl's up quick, swinging his bow over his shoulder, halfway back to his tent. He doesn't like cops - he hasn't been in any trouble with them, not really, but he's seen enough of Merle's shit and Dad's to know that cops ain't good news even in the best of times. He's not exactly looking forward to laying down on the floor of his tent with nothing but his backpack, leaving the warmth of the fire behind, but it's better than being stuck with a fucking cop all night. </p><p>"Thanks," he hears the man say as he ducks into his own tent. He doesn't answer, just zips the door shut and tries to sleep, bow right next to him, backpack under his head and curled up under his jacket. </p><p>He didn't think he'd be able to sleep but when he wakes up it's morning and his dad is shaking his tent again. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," his dad says, and Daryl can recognize that syrupy slow tone of voice and feels himself clenched up. With monsters ripping out people's throats and a cop across the campsite, Will Dixon is drunk before breakfast. </p><p>He comes out and his dad grins at him. Daryl likes the woods because they have rules, they're predictable. You gotta know what it is you're looking for but once you know, those things don't change. Deer don't grow different hooves from one day to the next and leaves don't change for no reason. You know what it is you're looking at. It ain't like that with his dad. One day he'll be ornery as hell and smack him for looking at him wrong and the next he'll be cracking jokes and slinging a hand over his shoulder, breathing booze fumes into his ear. Daryl can't tell which of these is better. </p><p>The fire is still going and the short haired woman from last night has a pot over it and is stirring something. She looks up at Daryl and gives a small smile. "Y'all hungry?"</p><p>His dad slings an arm around his shoulder and Daryl stiffens - just ever so slightly. The lady notices it and looks back at the pot. "It's not much - just some oatmeal - but I thought, to say thanks -"</p><p>"Oh well now, thanks awfully, ma'am," his dad drawls, and he can see the lady tense up too. "But me and my boy wouldn't dream of taking food outta a lady's mouth. We'll go catch our own, now, won't we?" </p><p>Daryl nods. His dad's arm over his shoulder feels heavy and he feels his dad give him a pinch. "Yeah," Daryl says. " 'M good." </p><p>"All right. Well, if you change your mind," she says, then she goes back to the fire. Daryl and his dad disappear into the woods. </p><p>Dad's drunk but he's not sloppy - he doesn't make any extra noise but he makes Daryl do most of the tracking and follows behind. They set some snares - setting snares is the way Daryl knows they're not going to leave for a while - and Daryl looks for something bigger, a deer or even a turkey or something, but all he comes up with are rabbits. His dad claps him on the shoulder as he strings them together, crows looking at them - "Lookit that fucking aim, boy, practically pierced his eye straight through!" - and Daryl's feeling pretty good when they make their way back to camp and they come across a dead one. </p><p>It's crouched over something - a turkey maybe, some kinda bird - and the bird is fluttering, frantic, trying to get away. It doesn't before the thing bites the bird's head clean off. Daryl starts to back away, slow, but his dad grabs his arm.</p><p>"The head," his dad whispers at him, gesturing. </p><p>Daryl raises his bow and something in him twinges. It's against every safety lesson he'd ever had from Merle or his dad on handling weapons - never aim it at anything you don't want dead, especially not people. But it doesn't look that much like a person anymore. The skin on it's face is half missing and one eyeballs is dangling out over a bloody cheek. The eyeball jiggles a little with every bite of the bird. </p><p>"Whatcha waiting for, boy, you -"</p><p>But his dad'd been too loud that time. The thing stops with the bird, turns their way. Can it see them, with it's eye all hung out like that? Or can it just smell them, is that why it's staggering up to it's feet, taking lurching steps towards them, feathers stuck to it's teeth as it snaps - </p><p>And then Daryl's arrow is in it's eyehole and it falls. His dad's over there in a second, flipping the thing over, looking at it. </p><p>"Good. Well, guess that tests one theory." He points to the thing - there's bullet holes in it, over the heart, the shoulder, the back. "Took a lickin' but kept on tickin'. Till you got it in the brainpan. So that's what we gotta do. To make 'em stop."</p><p>Daryl nods. His dad pulls the bolt from the things head, wipes it on the things clothes, hands it to Daryl. "No point wastin' them - who knows when we'll get more. But you keep that one separate from the others, hear? You clean that good before you put it near any game, anything we're gonna eat. Got me?"</p><p>"Yeah," Daryl says. He takes the bolt - it's mostly clean but he can feel something tacky near the edges, where the fletching and the shaft meet. He slips it into his pocket. He wonders if he should feel bad - he just killed a person. Killed? A person? He tries not to think about it but he finds his hand continually drawn back to his pocket, his fingers running over the thick, sticky patch left on the arrow as his dad sips from his flask.</p><p>They make their way back to camp and when they get there the others are out. Not all of them - the kids are sitting around the fire with bowls of oatmeal, Shane is talking with the dark haired woman - Laura? Lori? - over near the tents, and the woman who made breakfast is nowhere to be seen. The big guy from last night isn't there either, but he can hear talking coming from one of the tents, so they're probably in there. </p><p>Daryl knows what he needs to do without asking. He gets the bucket he'd used for water the night before and his knife and he goes to sit near the tents to strip the rabbits, but his dad whistles him over so he goes back over toward the fire. His dad's hand is there again, heavy on his shoulder. </p><p>"Sure these fine people don't mean to kick us out of our own goddamn fire," he says in a loud voice, shoving Daryl down next to the kids. It's a girl and a boy. The boy gives him an uncertain smile but the girl just looks at him. </p><p>"Hi," she says. He nods his head at her.</p><p>"Well, whatcha waiting for? That rabbit ain't gonna skin itself," Dad says, and Daryl squints at him. </p><p>"They're eatin'," he mumbles. "Can do it at the tent, if -"</p><p>"What'd I just say? Who built that fucking fire?"</p><p>The boys eyes are wide as saucers, like he's never heard a man cuss before, but the girl is different. She's looking at Daryl like she knows him, but just for a second, for a second so fast he thinks maybe he imagined it, and then she's got her eyes glued to her oatmeal. Daryl puts his eyes down too and starts rolling up his sleeves - he only brought two shirts with him, no point getting blood all over this one - and he hears heavy footsteps. The other grownups have come over - Shane and Lori. The oatmeal lady and her man still ain't nowhere to be seen. Daryl glues his eyes to the bucket and picks of the string of rabbits. </p><p>"Morning. Don't think I caught your name last night."</p><p>"Don't think I fucking dropped it," Will drawls, and Daryl looks up at him. Dad hates cops but normally he hides it better than this. </p><p>"Shane Walsh. This here's Lori and Carl, and that little lady is Sophia." The girl doesn't look up from her oatmeal. "Her mama and daddy are over in that other tent - Carol and Ed." There's a long pause and for a minute Daryl thinks his dad won't say anything, that maybe this conversation'll just die and his dad'll go to the tent and sleep it off and then -</p><p>But Dad grunts and says "Will Dixon. My boy Daryl."</p><p>"Nice to meet you, Daryl." Daryl grunts, keeps his eyes on the rabbits. "Pretty impressive. You catch all that just now?"</p><p>"That ain't shit. Boy's taken down a deer by hisself before. Almost got a bear last fall." His dad shoots Shane an insanely wide smile. "In season, of course." </p><p>"Of course," Shane says. "Still. Pretty nice haul for a couple hours work."</p><p>Daryl shrugs. </p><p>"When y'all gonna head out?" Will asks, and Shane looks at Will a long time. Daryl tenses. Can Shane tell his dad is - </p><p>But Shane just says "Well now, that's what I thought we'd talk about. This seems like a good place to me - source for water, cliffs all around. Game," he says, pointing at the string of rabbits hanging from Daryl's hand. "Probably fish in that lake. Close enough to the city that when the army comes, we won't be hard to find. Seems like this could be the right place to wait this out."</p><p>"Yeah? My boy and I thought the same thing. 'S why we got here first."</p><p>"Technically it's public land. No expectation of you having sole claim to it."</p><p>Will scoffs. "And what're you going to do, Officer - call up the parks service? Think they might be a little busy trying not to get fucking eaten."</p><p>Shane's face tightens. "Watch it," he says. "Not in front of the kids."</p><p>"What? You think they're blind? You think they missed that geeks are chomping down on anything with a pulse out there?"</p><p>"There's no need to frighten them," Lori breaks in. "They're just kids."</p><p>"Yeah? Well so's mine and didn't stop him from nailing one a those geeks through the eye. Thing bit the head off a goddamn bird and Daryl didn't even flinch. Nailed him."</p><p>Shane and Lori are looking at Daryl and he can feel his ears heating up. He hates it when people look at him. Never means anything good. When his hair is long he hides behind it - his hairs grown out a little from the buzz cut Dad gave him but not enough. Sometimes he thinks that's why Dad shaves his head down, not because he looks like a fucking queer, but because he never wants Daryl to have anywhere to hide. </p><p>"Still," Lori says firmly. "In front of my son, I'd prefer if you didn't."</p><p>To Daryl's surprise, Will grunts. Maybe it's not that surprising. Will believes that how people raise their kids is their own goddamn business. </p><p>"We can pull our weight around here," Shane says. "And we're not really asking. We've got just as much a right to be here as you." Shane's eyes linger on the handgun, shoved in the front of Will's pants. "We're staying. We'd like to be able to work together, if possible, but if not, that's your choice. But we ain't leaving."</p><p>Will spits on the ground. "Well then," he says. "Guess there ain't really anything we need to talk about." He looks at Daryl. "Finish up with those. 'M fucking starving." And with that, he disappears back into his tent, leaving Daryl with four people staring at him as he opens his knife. He looks at the kids. Carl is staring at him, eyes super wide, looking at the knife in his hand. Sophia too - but she's looking at the limp pile of fur at his feet.<br/>
<br/>
He scoops up the animals without saying anything and goes back over behind the tent. Didn't need anyone fucking staring at him. And maybe he didn't want those kids puking oatmeal everywhere when he started skinning up Thumper right in front of them. </p>
<hr/><p>The days take on a kind of routine. Will and Daryl wake up, eat, go hunting. Shane and Will spar verbally every so often, but stay enough out of each other's way. Will drinks and Daryl watches with dread as the level in the bottles gets lower and lower. Tries not to let himself wonder what happens when the bottles run out. <br/>
<br/>
People keep coming. Dad's brilliant idea wasn't so brilliant - or at least, it was a brilliant idea a lot of other people thought of too. Some of them Dad doesn't mind - the old man in the RV, Dad sneers at but the sneer turns into a crocodile grin when the two blondes step out. A guy named Jim, quiet and distant, which his dad approves of. But there are others who, if they'd been the first to show up, Daryl thinks mighta gotten shot that first night. The beaner family, the two kids talking Mexican with their mama, makes his dad's lip curl. The chink, with his stupid baseball hat, only escapes getting the shit kicked out of him because he brings a huge supply of cans and is always willing to go out to find more. He goes to the camping store down I-85 and comes back with enough tents for everybody and even a spare sleeping bag for Daryl - Daryl just grunts when the man gives it to him, unsure how he knew that his dad hadn't given his back yet. Nights get a lot warmer after that. The coons are the worst. "T-Dog, what the hell kinda name is that," his dad grumbles at night, loud enough for the others to hear. The black lady stays as far away from them as possible and Daryl can't blame her, after some of the stuff his dad's said. <br/>
<br/>
"Shane thinks he's in fucking charge here well, fuck him," his dad says on a hunting trip. "Who found this place, huh? Who set up camp? Who feeds those goddamn greedy motherfuckers? You and me, kid, we left them, they'd be dead in a week. Less. And we still might, huh? We still just fucking might."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl doesn't know what he thinks about the other people. For one thing, they're loud - they talk and laugh and listen to music and they drive the game further out into the woods. They tried to talk to him but he never talked back, just grunted, so mostly they'd stopped. The only ones who still try are Lori and Carol, and even they don't say much. He likes Carol better than Lori - Lori is always trying to get him to play with the little kids or to join them for school or some shit. He's fourteen, he ain't no little kid who wants to play tag or some shit. He swears in front of Lori once - his dad cusses so much that sometimes Daryl doesn't even realize he's doing it - and Lori scolds him. <br/>
<br/>
"Carl and them, they look up to you. You have to set them a better example," she says, looking at the knife strapped to his belt, his blood dirty fingernails. Daryl doesn't know what to do with this - he's never been told off like this and it makes him feel embarrassed and angry and he just stands there, mute, his face flushing, until Lori stops talking. <br/>
<br/>
Carol never does shit like that. Carol hardly talks to him at all, which is the way Daryl likes it. <br/>
<br/>
"We're doing laundry, you want me to wash that?"</p><p>"Made some oatmeal, want some?"<br/>
<br/>
And she never gets mad when he mumbles and says no and walks away. His dad says he shouldn't take anything from the others - "we want them in debt to us, not the other way round." Dad takes stuff sometimes but it's never offered to him, he just takes it. Dad says they've earned it, it's like a trade. He brings them meat and he gets back cans of beans or first dibs on the best gear. Taking what people offer is charity, and Dixon's don't do that. But Carol offers anyway, even though Daryl always says no. And she thanks him - when he brings back squirrels or strips the meat or hauls back a load of firewood, she always says "Thanks, Daryl," softly, like it's just for him. No one else says thank you. No one else says much to him at all. <br/>
<br/>
Carl and Sophia and the Morales kids sure don't. The Morales kids never get anywhere near them - maybe their mama warned them, hearing what Will could say. But Carl follows him around sometimes, when he's in the camp, from a distance. He tried to talk to Daryl once, and it hadn't gone great. <br/>
<br/>
"Your dad swears a lot," Carl observed as Daryl cleaned his bolt. He'd wiped it down with boiling water and a little bit of vodka he'd snuck from his dad. He thought about the tacky, viscous blood from that first geek and he tries to clean the bolt as good as he can. Carl's staring at him expectantly, waiting for Daryl to say something. So he does.</p><p>"So?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. My dad didn't swear like that. He said swearing was for people who didn't know how to express themselves better."<br/>
<br/>
"Whyn't you go talk to him, then?" Daryl snipes, and Carl's face falls. <br/>
<br/>
"I can't. He's dead." And the boy got up and walked over to his mama and stayed with her the rest of the night. <br/>
<br/>
Sophia never asks dumb questions, but she watches him too. Sneaky, like he wasn't gonna notice her. But he notices enough. She never sits next to her dad - her mama's always in between them, like a buffer. Sometimes he wishes he could have a buffer between him and his dad. <br/>
<br/>
Ed Peletier is the only person in camp Will Dixon likes, which makes Daryl feel like he understands Sophia pretty good. <br/>
<br/>
Will and Daryl go deeper and deeper into the woods and are gone from camp longer and longer, which is good because Will is pissing people off. They're further out then they've ever been one day when they run into another geek. </p><p>This one ain't distracted. It's run up against a tree, like it's trying to walk through it, and Daryl doesn't see it until it jumps right out at him. It's snarling and breathing and Daryl's bow is caught between him and the geek and he's kicking at it and trying to bring up his bow, trying to get his hands free and it reeks, smells worse than anything Daryl's ever smelled, and Daryl thinks if he don't get bit then it's the smell that'll kill him and how stupid is he that he didn't smell the fucking thing coming, how - </p><p>But then he twists and the bow is free and he jams the arrow under the things chin and presses the trigger - the reverberation in his hands stings like crazy and all of a sudden his face feels warm and wet and that smell is everywhere and he gags, rolls over, shoves the fucking thing off of him. <br/>
<br/>
His dad is standing a few feet away, sipping out of his flask, watching.<br/>
<br/>
"Figured you'd figure it out for yourself," Will says. And he turns around and starts heading back to camp. <br/>
<br/>
That night, when Carol asks if she can wash anything for him, he says yes. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Ghosts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Daryl'd thought maybe the good thing about the other people being there was his dad would be angry at them instead of him. But of course it doesn't work like that. </p><p>Instead, Will gets angrier and angrier at the chink and the spics and the coons and the fucking pig cop and it's only a matter of time before he takes it out on Daryl. </p><p>He'd been pretty good up until then. Sure there'd been the occasionally whap around the head and fingers gripping too tight and a shove here and there, but that didn't even really register to Daryl anymore. That was just growing up with Merle and his daddy and even his mama, that was how shit went. But when his dad found out he'd let Carol wash his shirt and jacket, he went ballistic. </p><p>It hadn't been Carol's fault he'd gotten caught. He'd given the clothes to her real careful. She'd been sitting at the big campfire, stirring something, and he went and sat next to her with his jacket and shirt in a bundle. His spare shirt was a tee shirt and the bruises dotting his arms were more noticeable, but Carol didn't say anything. He'd sat there and watched the fire and cut up squirrel meat to add to the pot. And when he'd finished, when he'd handed Carol the squirrel and headed back to the tent, he'd left his jacket and shirt there next to her. She hadn't even blinked. He'd seen her later, down at the river with the blondes and Lori and the black one, and she'd been washing his shirt mixed in with Ed's stuff. She hadn't even hung it to dry with the others - he and his dad got back to his tent from hunting and she'd hung them from the frame inside his tent. They'd dried a little wrinkled, It wasn't on her he'd gotten caught. He'd just got stupid. </p><p>Will was drunk and mean but he wasn't stupid. Daryl never forgot that, but sometimes he forgot to think everything through. So of course when he showed up with a flannel that was clean and soft and smelled like soap, his dad would notice. He'd been dumb to think he wouldn't. </p><p>"What happened to your shirt?" his dad asked soft. They were outside the tent - Dad was cleaning the rifle and Daryl had the Glock. He'd already done his bow and he'd been cold and the clothes had smelled good - not like death or sweat or blood, they'd just smelled normal, like the clothes other kids at school would have. Even back home they hadn't had soap like this, had just thrown everything in the washer with dish soap or whatever was to hand. So he'd put it on and it'd all been fine, fine, until suddenly his dad was squinting at him and he felt his mouth go dry. He shrugged. </p><p>"Hadda wash it. After." They hadn't talked about the geek in the woods at all. When they'd gotten back to camp Lori had looked alarmed, had said "God, Daryl, what happened, are you -" And his dad had said "He's fucking fine, ain't his blood." And that'd been it. He tried not to think about his dad there with his flask, taking a drink and watching his kid get almost killed. </p><p>"Who washed it for you?"</p><p>Daryl shrugged again and his dad slapped him in the back with the nose of the rifle. "Quit it with that shit. I asked you a question."</p><p>"Did it myself." His dad was getting loud and Daryl felt rather than saw the camp starting to notice them. </p><p>"Don't fucking lie to me."</p><p>"Not," Daryl said. He swallowed. He could feel everyone looking and he hated it, hated it, hated it. He concentrated on the gun, instead, cleared the chamber, heard the moving parts of it click and snap, felt the weight in his hands. Stupid, he thought to himself, fucking stupid, fucking idiot. He shoulda thought this through. If he hadn't asked Carol to wash it, if he'd done it himself, if he'd just left it alone instead of being some kinda goddamn pussy about a little fucking blood - </p><p>But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. If it hadn't been this it woulda been something. It always was. And his dad had been too mad for too long. He just decided he wouldn't bring Carol down with him. </p><p>"You ain't left my side in three days and I know you don't got no goddamn laundry detergent squirreled away somewhere, so who the fuck washed your shirt?"</p><p>Daryl shrugged again. Kept silent. </p><p>"Don't you pull that shit with me, you mute fucker. I asked you a goddamn question and you better -"</p><p>"Hey there. Everything all right over here?"</p><p>It was Shane. Daryl had known things were going bad, but he hadn't known how much worse. </p><p>"Oh, sure, all's great with us, officer. Nothing to see here. Just having a talk with my boy."</p><p>"Yeah? How you doing Daryl? You good?"</p><p>Daryl nodded. Focused on the gun. </p><p>"Man asked you a fucking question, Daryl, shit, ain't you going to give him a goddamn answer -"</p><p>"Good, yeah," he mumbled. He looked up, and Shane was looking at him. Calculating. Daryl nodded. "Good, sir."</p><p>"Yeah? Sure?"</p><p>"Answer the fucking man, Daryl, Jesus -"</p><p>"Yeah, 'm sure."</p><p>Shane nodded. "Will, can I talk to you for a minute?"</p><p>"Little busy here right now."</p><p>"It'll just take a minute." </p><p>Will sucked in air through his teeth, then shoved the rifle at Daryl and stood up. "Deal with this. Then we'll go check them snares." Daryl nodded and Will took two steps away from their tent site, over towards Shane. Daryl tried not to listen. </p><p>" - y'ain't a cop out here so I'll thank you to -"</p><p>"We've all seen how you treat that boy and if you think -"</p><p>"Daryl?"</p><p>He jumped, looked up. Lori was squatting down next to him, smiling at him. </p><p>"Hey there. You wanna come hang out with Carl for a while? Louis isn't feeling well and I think he's going a little crazy playing dolls with the girls."</p><p>"Can't," he grunts. Finishes wiping down the butt of the rifle, then opens it up. Loads it. Lori flinches at the sound. "Gotta go check the snares."</p><p>"By yourself?"</p><p>He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. " 'M dad's coming."</p><p>"I'm sure he could do it himself just this once. You've been working pretty hard. It's okay to take a break."</p><p>"Thought we weren't meant to go off alone."</p><p>Lori blinks. "Well - "</p><p>"If you two are done with your fucking girl talk, we got work to do." The conversation with Shane is over and Daryl is up, crossbow over shoulder, holding out the rifle to his dad. Will takes it, puts a hand on the back of Daryl's neck. Not hard, just a promise. Daryl feels his stomach squirm. Whatever these two wanted to do, all they'd done was fuck this all up more. Although maybe he should be grateful - Dad's so spitting mad now, he's probably forgotten about what set him off, and maybe he won't remember when they finish about the shirt. </p>
<hr/><p>They don't go to the snares. Daryl knew they wouldn't - they'd only set them this morning, too early to expect anything good out of them. Instead, his dad leads him down to the clearing where they'd killed that first geek. It's still there, a degraded pile of guts and bones that they step over. <br/>
<br/>
" 'Less you wanna wash that shirt again, best get it off." Daryl's stomach tightens but he moves quick - it's more of a warning than he's gotten sometimes. </p><p>It's weird being in the woods because normally in the woods this doesn't happen. Daryl likes the woods - he's happy there, in the trees, no one looking, just tracks to find and follow and a necessity to be quiet. Normally it's home where everything is fucked up. But everything else is fucked up now anyway so he guesses it was dumb to think the woods wouldn't be too. <br/>
<br/>
It's just that normally, when he's at home and something's bad, he goes to the woods. Either for real, if his dad's got his friends around and everyone's getting high and he can sneak out without being noticed, or in his head, if he got caught doing something stupid and his dad get angry. It's weird to be in the woods already, instead of closing his eyes and pretending he's seeing trees, or hearing crickets and frogs. It makes him off balance, somehow, so he isn't ready when it starts. <br/>
<br/>
It's always worse when Dad's drunk but drunk is better then high and sober doesn't hurt as bad but sometimes feels worse - like he can't blame it on his dad being loaded or blitzed so the only thing left to blame is him, him and his stupid mouth and his fucking slow-ass brain and -</p><p>So it's bad but not as bad as it coulda been, and his dad doesn't ask anything else about who did his laundry. <br/>
<br/>
"Those fucking people," his dad says as they start back - he's got a hand on Daryl's shoulder and Daryl wants to squirm a little because his shirt is sticking to his back but with his dad's hand there he doesn't quite dare. His dad's calmer now - still mad but not furious, contained. Doesn't make him any happier about Shane and Lori sticking their noses where they don't belong. "I tell you what, boy, these goddamn people don't know what the fuck they're doing. Fucking Officer Shane pretending the world's what it was, like he has any authority over us, like the old fucking rules apply. Weak ass shit. They wanna baby their fucking kids, let 'em do homework and go swimming, well, fine, let 'em. Ain't no skin off my back when they get fucking killed because they're so lily livered they don't know one of the knife from t'other."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl dares to shift, slightly. Ain't no skin off his back, sure. <br/>
<br/>
"Ain't gonna baby my fucking kid like that when the goddamn world is ending."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl doesn't let himself think that in that case, maybe the world had been ending a lot longer than he thought. </p>
<hr/><p>He's got third watch that night and he's sitting by the fire when all of a sudden someone's sitting next to him. He's about to snap when he realizes it's Sophia. <br/>
<br/>
She's wearing a pajama set and it's maybe the stupidest thing Daryl's ever seen. He's never really gotten the point of pajamas anyway - he figures a tee shirt and underwear's good enough and outside, why wouldn't you wear everything to sleep, in case you gotta get up in a hurry, in case you need extra layers for warmth. But she's got honest to god matching pajamas, white with little pink things on it. She's got pink flip flops on her feet and she's sitting on the log next to him and she's not saying anything. <br/>
<br/>
"Shouldn't be out here," he mumbles after a while. She's shivering, he can see. " 'S cold."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm okay." He grunts. Starts looking at the fire again. She shivers again.<br/>
<br/>
"Your daddy's gonna see you're gone."<br/>
<br/>
"He's - real asleep. He won't wake up till morning."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl nods, and keeps looking at the fire. <br/>
<br/>
"Mama's sorry."<br/>
<br/>
"What for?"</p><p>"For - earlier. She didn't mean to get you in trouble."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl looks at her then. Sophia isn't looking at him, is hugging her arms over her chest. The sleeves have stupid little ruffles. He can see the pink things are drawings of girls - girls with smiling faces, pink skirts, crowns. He scoffs, spits into the fire. "She din't get me nowhere."<br/>
<br/>
"She tried to be real careful. She didn't think -"<br/>
<br/>
"Just said she din't do nothing, din't I? Shit." He picks up a stick and pokes at the fire, stirring the embers. It didn't need it, and his poking actually makes the flames go lower. He swears, leans down to blow air onto it.<br/>
<br/>
"Your daddy seemed real mad."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl shrugs. " S' just how he is. Weren't nothin' she did."<br/>
<br/>
"My daddy gets mad too."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl looks at her again, those stupid ruffles and her feet in their flip flips and her blonde hair and her freckles which are sticking out on her pale face like somebody painted them on. She's not looking at him. <br/>
<br/>
"He get mad at you?" Daryl doesn't know why he's saying anything. Dad's get mad. That's what they do. Ain't no skin off his back if some dumb girl can't deal with it.<br/>
<br/>
"Not me." She rubs her hands down over her arms. "I should - get back."<br/>
<br/>
"Thought you said he was real asleep." <br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but my mama might wake up. I don't want her to worry." She stands up then and he can hear her flip flops slapping her feet as she creeps back towards her tent. <br/>
<br/>
"Night, Daryl."<br/>
<br/>
And then she's gone, like a pale pajamaed ghost, disappearing into the night.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Our Glorious State</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next day Lori tries to make him sit down to lessons with the little kids and Daryl loses it on her. </p><p>It's not only her fault. Daryl's always edgy after a whipping - like to snap anybody's head off who talks to him. He's surprised he didn't yell at Sophia last night, but that was different. This morning, he almost can't believe that really happened. Maybe it was a dream. <br/>
<br/>
But he should have remembered this. His back hurts and it makes him cranky and short tempered and when the world was normal, he'd probably get into a fist fight at school and get suspended and then he'd get sent home and Dad'd whup him again and the whole thing would just keep going. At first he'd started picking fights the day after to cover up the marks - not the belt ones, it wasn't like fifth graders were hauling off their belts and whupping each other in the middle of the playground - but the bruises, black eyes and cut lips and marks on his arms. If he picked a fight right when he got to school then the teacher'd assume he got them in the fight. And sometimes it felt good, he thought, to hit something hard. <br/>
<br/>
But that always makes him feel sore in his chest and he tries to push it away, to not think about it. Is that how his dad feels sometimes, when Daryl makes him mad? Like it just feels good to hit something, hard? <br/>
<br/>
So he isn't necessarily surprised by himself when it happens, but he is surprised at what sets him off. <br/>
<br/>
"Daryl, come here." Lori beckons him over - calls him like a goddamn puppy dog - and that sets his hackles up immediately. He ain't no dog, come when he's bid. Sure he'll do it for his dad, but she ain't his dad, she ain't nobody to him, what gives her the right - </p><p>"Have a seat. Miranda and Carol and I were talking, it's time to get all of this better organized."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl doesn't sit. "Alla what?"<br/>
<br/>
She pats the seat next to her and waits. He still doesn't sit - well, not next to her, anyway. He perches on the other side, out of arms reach, and looks as Lori gestures at the table. Math workbook, spelling sheets, a spill of pencils, a book he thinks he remembers from sixth grade social studies. GEORGIA: OUR GLORIOUS STATE, the cover says in big yellow letters. "School."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl looks at her. School? There's geeks running around all over the place chomping down on people and she wants to talk about school?<br/>
<br/>
"We've been doing bits and pieces with the other kids, but we think it's time to try and set up something stable - class time, curriculum, homework. Keep everybody up to date. So we want to get an idea of where everybody is."<br/>
<br/>
Homework? <br/>
<br/>
"Are you fuckin' with me?" Daryl asks, and Lori stiffens. Looks disapprovingly at him. The Morales mom is coming over with her kids, and he sees Carl and Sophia coming up from the quarry with Carol, faces damp from washing up. <br/>
<br/>
"Language. And no, of course not. Why would I be -" Lori doesn't seem to know what to say and settles for " - messing with you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Cause ain't none of that shit matter." Lori bristles. <br/>
<br/>
"Just because things are bad right now doesn't mean they'll never get better. Structure isn't a bad thing. You don't want to be behind when you do go back to school, do you?"<br/>
<br/>
Daryl doesn't know what stupid thing to address first. First, the idea that school shit matters ever, that's laughable. Second, the idea that he wasn't already behind - between suspensions for fighting and missed days for camping and days when Merle was home so why waste that time with fucking school and the days he just skipped because what was the fucking point when he was gonna drop out in a year and a half anyway, Daryl can't remember the last time he'd done homework or aced a test or done anything in class other than stare out the window. He scoffs at Lori and her frown deepens. <br/>
<br/>
"Ain't going back to school." <br/>
<br/>
"When things get better -"<br/>
<br/>
"Be leaving in a year and a half anyway. Even if shit do get better, won't be in time for me."<br/>
<br/>
Lori looks startled. "How old are you?"<br/>
<br/>
" 'Most fifteen." He'd only turned fourteen two months ago, but she doesn't need to know that. <br/>
<br/>
"Well - you've still got almost all of high school left."<br/>
<br/>
"Can drop out at sixteen. S'the law." Daryl doesn't think anyone in his family had graduated high school. Handful of people got their GEDs, and Daryl thinks his mama probably could have graduated - she was smart, she was always reading books, when she was alive. But she'd gotten knocked up with Merle at fifteen and married Will and that was that. <br/>
<br/>
"Daryl -" Lori looks pitying all of a sudden in a way that turns his stomach, and maybe even that he'd be able to take, if she didn't reach out like she was going to take his goddamn hand.<br/>
<br/>
And suddenly he's furious, furious at this stupid bitch nattering at him about school and opportunities, like other people in the past scolding him for his potential, for wasting his life. Don't they fucking get that it's his life, after all? Don't they see there isn't any potential hiding deep inside of him - it's just him all the way down, trashy accent and Merle's old jeans and his back split open under his shirt? Sixteen is when he can try to get a shitty fucking job and get the fuck out, get an apartment with Merle, maybe, when he's done in the army. He's not gonna bargain for two more years of Will Dixon in order to learn fucking French and dissect flowers and learn about his glorious state. <br/>
<br/>
"Fuck off, lady!" he yells, and he pushes all the papers and shit off the table into the dirt and stomps away. Lori is gaping at him like a fish, and he can see Mrs. Morales stop, put her hands on her kids shoulders. Like saying 'stop, it's not safe.' He doesn't look at Carl or Sophia or Carol - doesn't want to see them look at him like he's something stupid and dangerous, like he really is a dog but not a tame one that comes when you call it, a mean one, the kind that bites and has to get put down. He's almost back to his tent when a hand lands heavy on his shoulder and he hisses and spins around. <br/>
<br/>
It's Shane and he looks furious. Daryl yanks himself back but the hand doesn't let go. "Best get offa me," he snarls, but Shane gives him a little shake. <br/>
<br/>
"Don't you talk to Lori like that. You're going to go back right now and apologize."<br/>
<br/>
"Ain't," Daryl grunts. "Get off!"<br/>
<br/>
"Shane," he hears, and there's fucking Lori again, and he snarls and twists trying to get loose. That just makes Shane move his hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck, and he gives him another little shake. <br/>
<br/>
"I mean it. Know your dad's a lost cause, but you can't go around this camp disrespecting people who are just trying to help you. Apologize. Now." <br/>
<br/>
Everyone is looking at him again - he can feel their eyes on him, feels his face getting red, and he grits his teeth and says nothing. Fucking pig. He didn't even do anything that bad - hadn't hit her, hadn't ripped anything up, hadn't even hardly said anything. He can't tell if his face is getting hot from anger or embarrassment (or maybe there's a little bit of fear, maybe, because Shane's hand is gripping his neck and that's too close to his back and it makes him want to -)<br/>
<br/>
"We're waiting," Shane says, and Daryl spits at the ground and says nothing at all. <br/>
<br/>
"Shane, he's just a boy. Let him go."<br/>
<br/>
"Old enough to know better than to act that way. I can wait all day, kid." And he can, Daryl can tell. It's not that the grip or the shakes hurt that much - Will'd done worse to him in a friendly mood - but there's iron behind it. Shane likes to win and he's not letting go until Daryl gives. </p><p>Well, Daryl won't give. He's not gonna bare his neck to some pig cop when he didn't even - </p><p>"Fuck's going on here?" <br/>
<br/>
Suddenly there's a lot of movement - he can tell the Morales kids and their mom, Carl and Sophia, Amy and Andrea at the corner of camp where they're laughing with Dale, they're all backing away. Will Dixon has emerged from the tent. <br/>
<br/>
"Nothing," Lori says. "Shane. It's nothing."<br/>
<br/>
"Ain't nothing that cop's got his hands all over my boy. What, missing out on your usual business, gotta beat the tar outta a fourteen year old - "<br/>
<br/>
"He was being disrespectful to the adults in camp. That's got to stop." <br/>
<br/>
Daryl can't quite read the look on Will's face. It's anger - he's seen that look a thousand times, in a thousand variations - but it takes him a moment to realize that it's anger with Shane. <br/>
<br/>
"Git your hands off my kid." And Will's stepping forward, all of a sudden, crowding up to Shane. "What gives you the right -"<br/>
<br/>
"Like you care," Shane snaps, and Daryl can feel the fingers tightening on the back of his neck. </p><p>"You got a problem with my kid, you bring it to me." Will takes another step forward and rips Daryl away from Shane. Daryl stumbles, dragged along beside his dad, his back screaming from all the yanking around, but Daryl doesn't say anything. Just stands next to his dad, his eyes on the ground. <br/>
<br/>
"Well, your kid's been mouthing off since he got here -"<br/>
<br/>
Daryl bristles at that. No he hasn't. He's hardly said two words to anybody. <br/>
<br/>
"- Swearing at the other kids, sassing Lori -"<br/>
<br/>
Cussing? That's what this is about?</p><p>"- and we can't live like that here. <em>Everyone</em> -" At this Shane is staring at Will, drilling into him with his eyes, and Daryl sees T-Dog and the chink standing behind Shane, watching, "- needs to respect each other. That's the only way all of this is going to work." <br/>
<br/>
Will spits. "Then you'd best respect me and my boy there too. I'm his father. He needs learnin' a lesson, he'll learn it from me." <br/>
<br/>
It's surprisingly Ed who talks - Ed, who hardly has two words to share with Shane, who spends most of his time smoking cigarettes and tracking Carol and Sophia everywhere they go - Ed who grunts, "Man's family is his own business. You got a problem, you best let Will take care of it." <br/>
<br/>
Shane's got his mouth open like he's going to say something, but Lori puts a hand on his shoulder. "Fine," she says firmly. "Will, Daryl's been using inappropriate language around the other kids. If you could talk to him about that, that'd be helpful." <br/>
<br/>
Will grunts and spits again, and Daryl looks at Lori, surprised. Is it really the language that's got them all tied up? He thought yelling at her and shoving her shit was worse. But then he sees her look at him, level, and he realizes with a sickening feeling she thinks she's doing him a favor. He looks away from her, clenches his teeth. <br/>
<br/>
"Son, you heard the lady. Give her an apology." Will's voice is oily and when Daryl looks at him, surprised, he sees a shit eating grin on his face. He looks away, towards Lori but not right at her. </p><p> "Sorry."<br/>
<br/>
"Good boy. Get your fucking ass out in those woods - goddamn snares need checking." He gets a rough shove towards the trees and he doesn't need telling twice. He leans down, snags his crossbow from the front of his tent, and takes off for the treeline. He can hear his dad laughing as he disappears into the brush. </p>
<hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He comes back later with a handful of squirrels from the snares and Carol's alone by the fire. He ducks his head and looks around for Sophia - she's over at the edge of camp, playing with the doll the Morales girl's got. They're laughing, and Daryl can't see Ed anywhere. Can't see Will or Shane or Lori, either. The others are around, hanging in front of the RV, working at their separate campsites, but it's like everyone's eyes just slide right off of him as he goes through camp. Like what happened this morning has made him a weird kind of invisible. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The only one who looks up at him as he comes through is Carol. She gives him a little smile - quick, nervous, there and gone in a flash. Before he really knows what he's doing, he goes over and thrusts out his haul. "You cooking?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Carol's eyes look him over. He doesn't know why a look like that from Carol doesn't make him mad when a momentary glance from Lori makes him want to spit. Maybe because there's no pity in it - not even sympathy. It's just a look, like she sees him. Maybe it's just because when she moves wrong he can see her own bruises - fingerprints dotting her upper arm, a shadow where her collarbone peeks out of her shirt. <br/>
<br/>
"Sure am," she says, and she looks at the squirrels. He pulls them back, suddenly embarrassed.<br/>
<br/>
"I ain't - I'll clean 'em, first. Just wanted to know where to bring 'em. When they're done."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. Thanks, Daryl. That'd be helpful."<br/>
<br/>
He shrugs, awkwardly. Looks at the squirrels. "Weren't much out there," he says. "Snares ain't in the right place. Moved 'em, but." He shrugs again. He looks at Carol. "Saw some tracks, from a deer? But getting too late to follow 'em. Maybe tomorrow."<br/>
<br/>
Carol smiles at him again, looks at the squirrels and says, "This should be plenty."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Daryl shrugs. "I'll clean 'em then," he mumbles, and as he goes to be by his tent, Carol stops him. She doesn't touch him, which is good, because he doesn't like Carol that much. Ain't nobody allowed to touch him except Merle and his dad, and it's not like he ever gave them permission. Especially after this morning with Shane, he's not going to let anybody take that liberty. But she just says "Hey," and when he turns around she's clearing a place off beside her and plunking down the cooking pot.<br/>
<br/>
"You can sit here, if you'd like." <br/>
<br/>
He shakes his head. Looks back towards the tent. "Should get back to my dad," he mumbles. <br/>
<br/>
"He's off with Ed. They're cutting firewood." She doesn't say anything else. <br/>
<br/>
Daryl thinks about it. Then lowers himself down on the edge of the log next to her. If his dad were here, or Ed, or even Shane, he wouldn't risk it. Nothing good ever came out of people knowing your business, and his dad was smart - could be he'd remember about the shirt and put two and two together and then Daryl'd catch it because he'd asked some stranger's woman to clean up his messes. But Dad and Ed ain't here - Ed's  far enough out that Sophia's laughing it up with the Morales kid and hasn't even looked over at them. So he'll risk it, sure, why not. He needs to leave, he'll leave. And they built the fire, din't they? That first night, him and his dad - it was their fire as much as anyone else's. Maybe more. That had to be worth something.<br/>
<br/>
He sits down and he pulls out his knife and he sets to gutting. He settles into the rhythm next to her, but in silence. It's nice to have company that isn't talking at him or pushing at him. He feels his shoulders, which have almost felt stuck in a permanent shrug since this all started, ease a little as he starts the second squirrel. <br/>
<br/>
"How do you and your dad cook these? Any tips?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I'unno," Daryl mumbles. He focuses on running his knife clean under the skin, trying to use as few movements as possible. "Just - cook 'em." He squints as he finishes the first squirrel and starts to cut it down to little joints.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure." She's quiet again then, until Sophia comes running over. Daryl's halfway through his fourth and last squirrel then, and Sophia coming over makes him duck his head around, checking for Ed. <br/>
<br/>
"Where's Daddy?" Sophia asks, and Daryl wonders what other people hear when she talks, because he can't hear anything but fear. <br/>
<br/>
"He went with Daryl's dad to cut firewood." Sophia settles down next to her mother and looks at Daryl with her big eyes, then looks away.<br/>
<br/>
"What's for dinner?"<br/>
<br/>
"Stew, I guess. Or chili. What do you think, Daryl, you think squirrel'd be good in chili? Dale has some cans of beans no one seems to want, maybe they'd be more appetizing if they were all mixed up in chili."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Daryl shrugs. He doesn't know he's ever heard the word 'appetizing' used in his life. Food is food. It was either good and you ate it or it was bad and it made you sick.<br/>
<br/>
"Squirrel chili!" Sophia says, wrinkling her nose, and Daryl's almost disappointed - you turned your nose up at food, that made you a stuck up brat in his eyes - but then he sees she's laughing. <br/>
<br/>
"Could be worse," Carol says, teasingly. "Could be - squirrel spaghetti."<br/>
<br/>
"Squirrel <em>spaghetti</em>!" Sophia giggles, wrinkling her nose up again. <br/>
<br/>
"What do you think Daryl, which would you rather - squirrel spaghetti or squirrel chili?" Carol asks him, and he looks at her in surprise. He just shrugs. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't really get this game, this laughter. It's enough for him to watch it, try to understand it. He doesn't need to be included. <br/>
<br/>
"Squirrel chili," Sophia says promptly. "Because squirrel spaghetti would be all weird - like, long strings of squirrel all slithering around in sauce, ew -" And she's laughing again, and Carol smiles. <br/>
<br/>
"I meant that the meatballs are made of squirrel, silly, not the spaghetti - yuck! I mean, I guess better than - squirrel macaroni and cheese." <br/>
<br/>
"Or - or - or what about, um, squirrel pancakes!" Sophia throws in, and then she's giggling too hard to continue. Her mother is smiling at her - a real smile, not the quick thing Daryl gets, not the fake ass one he sees her pull with the other women - Carol's smiling, big and warm and real, and she's running a hand over Sophia's forehead, tucking her blonde hair behind an ear. <br/>
<br/>
"Or - or - what about squ-squirrel -" Sophia starts laughing too hard to finish her sentence. <br/>
<br/>
"Girl, you've gone wild. Daryl's going to think you've lost your mind." But the tone is fond and the hand is still there, smoothing her hair. Sophia leans into it, snuggles up against her mother's side. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Daryl wonders if he was like that with his mama. He doesn't remember. He doesn't think so, though. Carol ain't like his mama - she's sharp and clear, never drunk and fuzzy. She never drinks, even when Ed does, and she doesn't smoke. His mama would never have been with it enough to get him a fucking matching pajama set. But maybe that's because he's a boy. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> "Hi." He looks back and Sophia's looking at him now - still a little giggly, but smiling at him, small and quick, cradled in the nook of her mother's arm.<br/>
<br/>
Daryl looks over his shoulder again, like a fucking pussy scared someone's gonna come up behind him and see him saying hey to a little girl. "Hey," he grunts, and he sets aside the last squirrel. Looks at his hands - grimy with dirt and smears of dried blood. He feels dirty all of a sudden - he hasn't had a real clean since they started the camp and other people showed up, just splashed water on himself every so often and wiped himself down with a damp rag. He wishes he could take a swim, all of a sudden, but the welts on his back are too noticeable - fucking Lori'd be on him like white on rice, maybe Shane too, though after this morning he'd probably just be glad someone was keeping Daryl in line, and he didn't want Carol or Sophia to see - </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">See what? Nothing. It was nothing to see. Just his life, printed on his back in welts and scabs and scars, in layers of dirt and grime and dried blood, in his trashy fucking voice and his buzz cut and the bow at his side, in his father. That's all it was. Nothing at all. <br/>
<br/>
He rubs his hands on his pants and stands up. " 'M gonna go wash up," he mumbles, and he starts to pick his way around the campfire. "Hope it's enough." <br/>
<br/>
"Thank you, Daryl." He grunts again and takes off for the quarry. It's late enough that the laundry ladies should all be done and the sun's dipping away, making it too cold to swim. He can hear the Peletier's behind him, talking in low voices, a moment of Sophia's giggle ringing out like a bell behind him. <br/>
<br/>
When he sees Ed and Will, carting a wheelbarrow of wood, he almost turns back and warns them.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Tell It To The Frogs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And we've hit season one. I'm writing this as I go but planning to do roughly one story per season and probably one chapter-ish per episode, in the hopes of getting more things completed sooner. When a chapter covers significant amounts of material from the show, I'll try and mark the chapter with the title of the episode, which we can all take as a disclaimer that any dialogue/situations you may recognize don't belong to me. </p><p>Also, I know a decent amount of slurs/racist bullshit in these first few chapters, but hopefully now that will start to ease up a bit as Daryl gets to interact a little more with different types of people. I know it's a weird line between exploring the racist mindframe of characters and actually being racist, so I'm trying to walk that as well as I can.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">China's going on a run and Will Dixon's meant to go. He's meant to, but the booze ran out two days ago and that means he's tapped into the harder stuff. His eyes are strange, glassy and too wide and he's laughing weird, too loud, forced. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Maybe - maybe you should say you can't," Daryl mumbles that morning as they divvy up the gear in his dad's tent. Dad's taking the guns, both guns, of course. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"What'd you say?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Just - don't see why you gotta go anyway. Got 'nuff other people goin'. Prob'ly more useful here."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Those fuckers don't know their asshole from their elbow. Ain't none of 'em fired a gun before any of this. Need them an expert."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Daryl shrugs. Debates not saying anything. Says something.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Maybe though - today ain't good. Maybe -"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"What're you saying?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Daryl clams up. Talking. It always fucks him up. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"You trying to say I ain't fit or something? That what you trying to say?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Daryl shakes his head. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"What then? You think I can't handle myself in big bad Atlanta?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"No," he mumbles. "I didn't mean anything, just -"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Just what? What you think makes you so goddamn smart?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The fist comes out of nowhere - drink makes Dad slow, meth makes him fast. Daryl sees stars out of his right eye, hisses, covers it with his hand. He can feel it start to throb, can tell it's going to be one hell of a shiner. Fuck. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Boy you're lucky I'm leaving now or by god I'd teach you to shittalk to me."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Sorry."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"When I get back, you and me gonna have a little talk about respecting your fucking elders, you hear me?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Daryl nods. He feels the anxiety curling up in his stomach and tries to push it away. Dad's tweaking. He might not even remember by the time he gets back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">"You go out and get that fucking deer today, you hear? No more of this pussyfooting bullshit. Come back with that deer or don't come back at all." Daryl nods, doesn't say anything. Will sucks on his teeth, spits. And then he's gone.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He waits fifteen minutes after Will leaves before he comes out of the tent. A lot of people went on the run - one of the blondies, the beaner dad, China, the black lady, T-Dog. Daryl thinks uneasily about how that'll go with his dad high as a fucking kite, but he pushes it away. Ain't his problem. Not yet. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Only people left are women and children - and Dale and Shane, of course. Dale sits on top of the damn RV all day in his dumbass hat all day and Shane's Mayor of Apocalypse Town, can't risk him on anything useful. Jim's probably around somewhere - he just goes off by himself for hours, creeps Daryl the fuck out. And Ed. Ed's sitting in front of his tent with a beer in one hand, watching his women. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Carl and Sophia and the Morales kids are parked at a picnic table, paper and pencils out, and Carol's there too. He doesn't know where Lori is. Probably off in the woods with Shane, boo-hooing over Carl's dead dad while Shane rubs her fucking back. He wouldn't go over if Lori were there. He might if it were just Carol and the kids. He hasn't talked to Carol or Sophia since the night near the fire, almost two weeks ago now. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> So maybe he'd go over, if it were just Carol and Sophia and the other kids. Maybe he'd see what they were doing. Not that he’d join in, after the fiasco of a conversation with Lori about school. But maybe just to say hey. Not with Ed watching, though. He grabs his crossbow and lights out for the woods before anyone can see his shiner.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He runs smack dab into Lori and Shane coming out. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks away. He's seen women mussed like that before - Merle never kept his girls a secret, and he'd caught his dad a time or two. But Lori seems embarrassed almost, and Shane looks mad. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"What're you doing, sneaking around like that? Might have thought you were a geek."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Shane, hush. It's Daryl. He's probably just on his way out." She smiles at him, straightens her shirt. "Hey there, hon."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hon? Daryl stares at her, aghast. She almost looks amused at his reaction, til she sees his eye. "Oh, Daryl, what happened -" and she's reaching out for his chin and he jerks back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"None 'a your fuckin' business, lady," he snarls, hands tight around the strap of his bow. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Hey! What'd we say about watching you language?" Shane blusters. He gets up in Daryl's space again but he's not Daryl's dad and this time, before he can get a hand on him, Daryl snarls and darts away, into the brush. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Shane, Jesus, he's just a kid. You don't need to - "</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Someone's gotta teach that kid respect. Wish I could teach it to his dad."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you think that's a reason to be a little easier on him? Will Dixon's no picnic. That eye -"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, I tried to step in once already and kid didn't give me anything. He's old enough to ask for help if he wants it. Christ. Almost scared the shit out of me." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then he's too far out to hear their stupid voices anymore.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1">He loops around to the quarry first - if he gets something cool on his eye maybe it won't swell up as bad. He needs both eyes to track worth a damn, especially if he's going to find that deer. <br/>
<br/>
After that, it all seems to be going his way. He picks up the tracks he saw the other day and follows them. Brings him deeper in the woods than he's been before, at least in that direction. It's quiet there - just him and birdsong and his thoughts. And about a million squirrels. He nabs as many of them as he can, even though he knows the deer is his first priority. Maybe if he beats Will back to camp he can go sit by the fire again when he breaks down the squirrels. Maybe Carol or Sophia'll sit with him. <br/>
<br/>
For a minute there it sounds like rain - he hears thunder rolling by, in the distance - but it bypasses them and the trail for the deer stay crisp and clear as he picks his way through the woods for what feels like miles. He spends the night out there - he's got jerky and water in his bag, and it's warm enough. It's nice being out under the open sky, no one else around. He sets a tripwire in case of geeks, but the night is quiet, just him and the trees and the stars.  At a certain point, the trail starts to bring him closer to camp, and he picks up the pace. If he can kill it closer to camp, that means less hauling for him, less time for it to spoil in the sun. <br/>
<br/>
His luck keeps going until he sees it - he's got the crossbow off his shoulder quick as lightning, but the deer hears something, starts, and so his arrow lands a breath too late, doesn't hit anything vital. He takes aim again as it runs, lets loose, hears the arrow hit but the deer doesn't drop, just keeps running. Daryl starts making his way after it - when the adrenaline wears off, maybe the deer'll drop. It's not even supper time yet - forget the fucking squirrels, he'd give Carol a whole deer, she'd - </p><p class="p1">It's when he catches up with the deer that his luck totally runs out. </p>
<hr/><p class="p1">At first he doesn't look at anyone - he's too busy with the geek that fucked up his deer. He's staring at the shoulder, calculating - if he cut around the shoulder and got rid of it before his dad got back, would anyone tell? He kicks the geek's body in frustration, stabs the head, and then he notices who's around him. Shane, Jim, Dale. And the chink, the beaner dad, both the blondies. His stomach twists. That mean's his dad is back already. <br/>
<br/>
He forces his voice big. It's been a while - maybe his dad's come down by now, maybe he doesn't even remember saying to bring back the deer or else, that he'd teach him later about respecting his elders. Maybe they came back with enough supplies that his dad's in a good mood - it looks like it, the cube van they got parked with all the other cars. <br/>
<br/>
"Dad? Dad, I got us some squirrel! We can stew 'em up."<br/>
<br/>
"Daryl," he hears Shane behind him, and he picks up the speed a little. He doesn't know what he did now, but he ain't giving Shane the space to get in his face again. "Slow up a bit. I need to talk to you."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl stops. Turns around. Looks around. Notices, for the first time, there's someone new there - some dork in a big white shirt and jeans and the way he's looking at Daryl makes him squirm. It's pity, full pity, and it makes Daryl want out of there fast as possible. <br/>
<br/>
"About what?" He knows what. His dad did something bad in Atlanta. It ain't even his fault - he's all hopped up on meth, they shoulda seen that, they never should have let him go, it's on them they brought him when he wasn't - his dad did something bad and now they're gonna get kicked out, twenty against two, twenty-one with the new guy, and Daryl and his dad'll be alone together, out on the road, just Daryl and his dad and his dad's stash - </p><p class="p1">"About your dad. There was a - there was a problem. In Atlanta."<br/>
<br/>
Then Daryl's stomach drops, and maybe it's actually worse than that. Maybe his dad's gone. Maybe the geeks got him and tore him up and now Daryl's alone for good, no Merle and no Dad and no Mama -</p><p class="p1">"He dead?" </p><p class="p1">Shane says, "We're not sure."<br/>
<br/>
And for a second Daryl thinks Shane is trying to have some kind of a philosophical conversation - are the geeks dead if they can still move around? Is this Shane saying his dad's one of them now, bloody and stinking and snarling, teeth chomping - </p><p class="p1">"He either is or he ain't!" Daryl says, and then the fucking new guy is coming over, leaning down, making fucking eye contact like Daryl's fucking four instead of fourteen - <br/>
<br/>
"No easy way to say this, so I'll just say it."<br/>
<br/>
Why doesn't he just say it then, instead of spitting out a stupid fucking sentence like that? "Who are you?" Daryl blurts out. He looks around, sees everyone else staring at him, feels his hands getting sweaty, his bruised eye start to throb. He hates it when people stare at him, he hates it, he hates it - </p><p class="p1">"Rick Grimes."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, Rick Grimes, you got something you want to tell me?" Grimes, he thinks, Grimes, that means something, that's somebody - </p><p class="p1">"Your dad was a danger to us all -" The momentary flood of relief, he's alive, he just fucked up but he's - "So I handcuffed him on a roof, hooked him to a piece of metal. He's still there."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl's yelling and he doesn't even know he's doing it. "You're saying you handcuffed my dad to a roof and you left him there?"<br/>
<br/>
Rick Grimes, in his stupid pristine white shirt, says "Yeah."</p><p class="p1">And Daryl's moving quick, before the others even know what's happening. He's throwing the squirrels at Rick's face - distract him, keep him busy while he goes forward, tries to tackle him, but he forgets Shane's a cop and Shane knocks Daryl down first. He hits the ground with a jarring thump, grapples around at his waist for the knife he's got there -</p><p class="p1">"Hey! Watch the knife!"<br/>
<br/>
He ain't gonna stick anybody, that'd be stupid and he ain't stupid, he just needs them to back the fuck up, needs Shane to get away, needs stupid Sad Eyes Rick Grimes to step off, needs - but it doesn't matter what he needs because Sad Eyes Grimes is punching him in the gut and fucking Shane's got his arms up and is pushing him into a chokehold. <br/>
<br/>
"You'd best let me go!" <br/>
<br/>
"Nah, I think it's better if I don't." Shane sounds like he thinks this is funny, the pig dick, and Daryl's starting to find it hard to breathe. Maybe because of the chokehold, maybe because of the hands on him, of Shane up against him, too close, of the pressure of Shane's body on his back.<br/>
<br/>
"Chokehold's illegal," he grunts. It is, his dad told him that, his dad -</p><p class="p1">"You can file a complaint," Shane snipes behind him like a bitch. "Come on, kid, we'll keep this up all day -"<br/>
<br/>
Then Rick is in his face, staring at him with those stupid eyes, and Daryl's head's stuck in such a way he couldn't look off even if he wanted to. <br/>
<br/>
"I'd like to have a calm discussion on this topic. Do you think we can manage that?" <br/>
<br/>
Daryl doesn't say shit. He knows a trick question when he hears one. Rick stares at him, then must make some signal to Shane because all of a sudden Daryl's free, and he rolls over, trying to breathe as Rick looms over him. <br/>
<br/>
"What I did was not on a whim. Your dad does not work and play well with others." <br/>
<br/>
He says that like it's some new information, like it's something Daryl doesn't understand. <br/>
<br/>
"It's not Rick's fault. I had the key. I dropped it." <br/>
<br/>
Daryl's staring at T-Dog  - like, are blacks actually that fucking dumb and lazy they don't just - "You couldn't pick it up?"<br/>
<br/>
The man grimaces. "Well, I dropped it in a drain."<br/>
<br/>
Of course he did. Daryl can't even blame him - he's an animal, like his dad said, animals don't know what they fuck they're doing, and Will's been poking T-Dog since he got to camp. Even a dumb animal will bite back when they get the chance. He feels his throat getting tight, swallows, wipes at his nose with the back of his hand. He's not going to cry, not in front of these people, not -</p><p class="p1">"Look, I chained the door to the roof so the geeks couldn't get at him. With a padlock." T-Dog sounds almost pleading, like he wants Daryl to say 'Thanks man, awesome job, that's more than enough.'<br/>
<br/>
"It's gotta count for something," Rick says, and Daryl's not sure what it's meant to count for. </p><p class="p1">"Hell with all y'all," he chokes out. "Just tell me where he is so's I can go get him."<br/>
<br/>
Because of course that's the only thing he could do. That's his father. He can't leave his father out there to die on that roof, eaten by geeks or dying of hunger or thirst. Thirst, he thinks, looking up at the sun. It'll be thirst. <br/>
<br/>
Then all of a sudden Lori's there, sticking her nose in where it doesn't belong. </p><p class="p1">"He'll show you. Isn't that right?"</p><p class="p1">And that's when he figures he's met Carl's daddy.</p>
<hr/><p class="p1">He can't say it's fun, listening to everyone try and convince Rick to leave his dad for dead, but that's nothing compared to the fight he has to put up to get them to take him with them. <br/>
<br/>
"I killed geeks before, don't scare me," he grunts, shouldering his crossbow. Now that they're actually going, his stomach feels tight, but that's not because of the geeks. That's because he's not sure who he'll find on that roof, what kind of a reaction he'll get. He pushes it away. Ain't worth thinking about. Not like there's any choice to do different. <br/>
<br/>
"It's not the walkers," Rick says to him. He's looking at him level, like he's taking him seriously, and Daryl narrows his eyes. "Or not just them. It's different in the city. Dangerous."<br/>
<br/>
" 'S'my dad. You go without me, you'll prob'ly just grab them guns and say he was dead a'ready."<br/>
<br/>
"I wouldn't do that," Rick says. Daryl just shrugs. Rick looks at him. "All right. All right, you can come."<br/>
<br/>
"Wasn't askin' permission," Daryl snarks, and he can hear Lori butting in again behind him. <br/>
<br/>
"Rick, you can't seriously -"<br/>
<br/>
"Lori," Rick says, quiet. "It's his father."<br/>
<br/>
"And you're someone's father too! Your own son just told you he didn't want you to go -"<br/>
<br/>
Daryl sneaks a look at Carl, who doesn't even notice him. He's too busy staring at his fucking Dad, stars in his eyes. <br/>
<br/>
"And how can I look at my son and tell him I made another kid an orphan? How can I live with that? Let his father die of thirst? Exposure? I can't do that. Me. We left him like an animal caught in a trap. That's not way for anything to die, let alone a human being."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl thinks about wolves chewing off their own paws to get out of traps, thinks about the mouse that got stuck in the glue trap behind their fridge and practically pulled itself out of it's skin trying to get free. Dad doesn't use traps. "Ain't sporting," he says. They've left his dad in a way his dad wouldn't even leave an animal.</p><p class="p1">China and the coon and Rick and him all pile in the cube van, the world's weirdest road trip, and make their way back to Atlanta.</p><p class="p1">Daryl's never actually been to Atlanta before. There was a field trip, in seventh grade, to the capitol building, but he'd been suspended so he wasn't allowed to go. Dad didn't do cities. Full of democrats and chinks and beaners and ragheads and blacks all over the place. "When the race war comes," his dad had said before, "It'll start in the cities first. Wouldn't catch me dead in Atlanta." <br/>
<br/>
His dad wasn't right, but he wasn't entirely wrong. Atlanta is like a war zone. Geeks everywhere, burned out buildings, abandoned cars and looted out stores. <br/>
<br/>
And when they get to the roof top, his dad isn't there.</p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Vatos</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After seeing his dad's hand laying there on the roof, it's like a part of Daryl's brain switches off. Like when he's about to get whupped and he imagines he's in the woods. He's in Atlanta, but he's also in the woods. He takes the hand like it's one of them dumb plastic Halloween hands - remembers his dad's friend Mason, who lost a finger in a construction accident and had it sewed back on in a hospital. There ain't no more hospitals, but still. Better than leaving it for the walkers. He's tracking, like his dad taught him. Two geeks (walkers, the other men call them, and it does fit better than geeks) heads all smashed. The wrench next to them. The drips of blood leading down. He almost yells out for his dad, but Rick's hand lands heavy on his shoulder and he flinches. </p>
<p>"We're not alone here, remember?" </p>
<p>"He - you said," Daryl says back, low. "He could be bleeding out. You said that."</p>
<p>That's when they see the kitchen. </p>
<p>The others seem horrified, Glenn vaguely sick, but Daryl doesn't get what the big deal is. What, they thought his dad'd done all that, cut off his hand and fought off walkers and burned himself, to die? His dad won't die. He was tough. Nothing could kill him except him. If he didn't die stuck on the roof of dehydration or from cutting off his own hand or cauterizing his own stump, Daryl doubted even a walker could kill him. </p>
<p>Daryl's about to follow the trail - the bloody towel's a good place to start - when Rick reaches out to stop him. <br/><br/>"Daryl, wait -" His hand barely grazes Daryl's shirt but he's fucking sick of these people getting in his space all the same time.</p>
<p>"Get your hands off me!" Daryl spits, and he's so venomous that Rick actually does. "You can't stop me."<br/><br/>"I don't blame you. He's family. I get that. I went through Hell to find mine. I know exactly how you feel."<br/><br/>Rick doesn't. No one does. But Daryl guesses Rick comes closest. So when Rick says they gotta keep a level head, Daryl nods. <br/><br/>"I can do that."<br/><br/>Glenn has a crazy idea but Daryl doesn't say nothing. Daryl's hardly spoken to the chink since they left, or T-Dog. He doesn't know what to say to them, what to do. He doesn't know why they're here. It's not until they're in the alley alone that Daryl does say something. <br/><br/>"You got some balls. For a chinaman." Hearing that come out of Will's mouth would have been the highest praise of all time. But it's true - Glenn's gonna run out alone, just himself, no weapon, nothing, with just Daryl covering his back, Daryl and his crossbow. </p>
<p>Glenn looks at him strange, then sort of smiles. "I'm Korean."<br/><br/>Daryl doesn't really know what that is - someplace he's from in China? He shrugs. "Whatever."<br/><br/>Glenn's plan is actually going pretty well. Until the spics show up. <br/><br/>He only had one job and he fucked it up. Of course he did. That's what he does. His dad wouldn't be surprised, if he were here. Fucking typical par for the course. <br/><br/>The kid doesn't look that much older than him, and Daryl's pretty sure he can take him in a fight. He's doing pretty good when Rick and T-Dog pull him off. Back in the lab, they question the kid, and Daryl doesn't get why they aren't smacking him around. Only way to get people to talk when they don't want to is to make them scared of what'll happen when they don't talk. He takes his dad's hand out, throws it at the kid, watches him squirm. <br/><br/>Rick looks at him like he's seriously messed up, but after a second T-Dog almost looks like he might laugh.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The guys who took Glenn are exactly like his dad said people'd be in Atlanta - gangbanging beaners, taking tough, ready to fight to the death, and Daryl's ready to fight too. <br/><br/>That is till the old lady comes out and the whole script flips. <br/><br/>It's weird watching these guys - these absolute scum, animals - talking gentle to their grandma, walking slow so she can keep pace, fetching medicine. <br/><br/>Rick gives away half the guns but they get Glenn back and make their way to the truck. <br/><br/>Which isn't there. <br/><br/>Which is gone. <br/><br/>Which only means one thing. <br/><br/>His dad is going to be back at camp and mad as hell.</p>
<hr/>
<p>When they hear the shots, Daryl feels paralyzed. His dad got back first and he's killing everyone, which means who knows what he's going to do to Daryl. </p>
<p>It's just when the others start running that Daryl remembers there's other reasons people might be firing. <br/><br/>The others are sprinting practically in the dark, he can hear Rick panting, and he gets his gun ready. He knows how to handle it - Dad never let him use the gun for hunting, and Daryl liked his bow better anyway, but he'd done enough target practice in the back with Merle and his friends, and his dad wasn't one not to let you get away with not knowing something important. <br/><br/>It's hard in the dark - it's loud and there's screaming and growling everywhere and Daryl just keeps firing, just hoping he hits the right person (not person, walker, you're hitting walkers), hoping he doesn't kill anything that isn't already dead. His hands feel sweaty but his grip is sure and his aim is good. By the time he runs out of bullets, the space has cleared out considerable, and he uses the butt of the gun to finish off the last couple. He hopes it's enough - he's strong enough, he guesses, but he's a gangly fuck, his dad says, and he hopes he's got enough force in his lanky arms to finish the job. As he does, the chaos, the noise and the running and the screaming and the gunshots, it all fades away. Instead just panting, breathing - Glenn looks like he's practically hyperventilating - and Rick is the only one still screaming. <br/><br/>"Carl!! Baby!! Carl!!"</p>
<p>The boy rushes out, past his mother, crying - he was too old to be crying that hard, his lip wobbling and he's running towards Rick, arms out, and Rick catches him, cradles him, and Rick's crying too. <br/><br/>And Daryl watches father and son cling to each other, as he stands there, alone in the dark with the taste of blood in his mouth. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Wildfire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next morning is fucking beautiful. Perfect sunrise, perfect sky. It'd be a nice day if it weren't for the bodies littering the campground. <br/>
<br/>
They spent the night in the RV - all of them that're left. Daryl doesn't sleep at all. There's too many people - he can hear them breathing, whispering, snoring, crying. Carol and Sophia are sleeping in the passenger seat - or at least Sophia is. Carol's just sitting there, holding her daughter in her lap, running her hand over her head over and over again. The Morales' are on the floor in front of the door, the kids sandwiched between their parents. And Daryl doesn't think Rick's let go of Carl since he scooped him up outside. <br/>
<br/>
Daryl can't sleep with all these strangers around. So he stays up - chews at the side of his thumb a little, half expecting his father to tell him to 'fucking quit it, fucking faggoty thing to do, shoving your thumb in your mouth, whatcha trying to say?' But no one says anything. They're all asleep. And they're not his father. <br/>
<br/>
In the morning, they do clean up. The women are gathering wood for a bonfire, the men are sorting the bodies into piles - ours and not. The kids are sitting around the table in the trailer playing Uno, but none of them seem very invested. <br/>
<br/>
When Daryl comes out of the RV, Lori looks at him in surprise. She's kneeling next to a blonde girl - Andrea, Daryl thinks, there's only one of them left and her name is Andrea. She forces a little smile and says, "Hey, Daryl. I think the others are playing cards in there, if you want to join."<br/>
<br/>
He shrugs. "Naw. More helpful out here."<br/>
<br/>
T-Dog and Glenn are dragging a body over towards the pile. It's leaking something on the dirt. <br/>
<br/>
"Well - maybe go ask Rick if he needs help with anything. He'll probably just tell you to go back in the RV -" But he's not listening, he's off. And he doesn't need to stop by Rick, either. He sees a job to do, he'll do it. He can figure out that much. <br/>
<br/>
Which is how he's slamming a pick axe into the brains of walkers when he hears the others talking about blondie - Andrea. <br/>
<br/>
"Could take the shot," he mumbles from behind them, and the adults all jump and look at him. Like they forgot he was still there. He sneers at them. Yeah, that fucking kid's still around. Continues. "Can hit a turkey between the eyes from this distance. Could -"<br/>
<br/>
"No. For God's sake, let her be," Lori says, looking at him like he's a monster. He's hurt for a second - he was being helpful, they all know that the dead blondie is gonna turn into a walker sooner or later and they'd have to end it then. Be better if it were sooner. Then he just scowls, leaves the pick axe, and goes to help Morales drag one of the camp dead over to the fire. <br/>
<br/>
Which is another fucking mistake. Glenn's practically crying, saying that "we don't burn them, we bury them" bullshit. Daryl thinks of his mama, nothing left but ashes in a shoebox at the top of his dad's closet. They'd left her behind when they left. He wonders if that's where his dad went, with the cube van. Maybe he just went back to get his mama and then - but Daryl stamps that thought out. Stupid. His dad left and it weren't for his mama, it was cause he got left on a rooftop for dead and first chance he could he got the fuck outta dodge without the dead weight of his useless youngest son. </p><p>Between Glenn and Lori staring at him like a monster, between remembering his dad's fucking gone and he hasn't come back, he's had enough of these people all of a sudden. "Reap what you sow," he bites out, and now Morales joins the club. How come these people get to be so fucking holier than thou with him when he's just trying to help? " Y'all left my dad for dead," he barks, and he feels the tears welling in his throat again and he isn't some baby like fucking Carl, running around crying and calling for his daddy, so he doesn't say more. Just goes off, grabs his pick axe, and starts slamming into walker heads, making sure they're all finally fucking dead, while the others get into some shit about how Jim got bit. <br/>
<br/>
These people don't know how to make decisions. His dad had said so the whole time. "Like a buncha whiny kids, 'gotta make it fair, that ain't right,'" he'd sneered one night, drinking. "Can't have somebody go dig a fucking latrine without holding hands and singing kumbaya shit." His dad was right. These people don't know what the hell they're doing. To Daryl, it's real simple. If he were bigger, older, he'd go right up to Jim and shove the pick through his head. Zero tolerance for walkers. End of story. <br/>
<br/>
But he ain't bigger. He's fourteen and alone and all the men left are big enough to beat the shit out of him, and soon they're gonna remember there's no reason for him to be here anymore, so he just keeps working, dragging camp dead into their own pile, their own rows. Slamming picks into everyone's head with more force than necessary, just in case. Just to be sure. </p><p>That's when he comes up on Ed. </p><p>He looks at him. He'd realized Ed hadn't made it - he hadn't been in the RV the night before - but the man looks like half of him's been chewed and swallowed. All that gnawing and somehow the head is still there, still intact. There's bruising on his face, what's left of it, older than the attack - dead bodies don't bruise. He looks around, uneasy. That's when Carol comes up. <br/>
<br/>
"I'll do it," she says simply. "He's my husband." She's crying, and it makes him uncomfortable. Ed was her husband, and he'd been killed. He'd been a shithead but so had Daryl's dad, and that doesn't make the fact that he's gone feel any easier. He just nods, doesn't make eye contact, and gives her the pick. <br/>
<br/>
And watches her slam it, five times, hard, into the man's skull. </p>
<hr/><p>They load the camp dead into Will Dixon's pickup and drive them up the hill. Daryl said he'd do it, but Glenn had commandeered the keys. Daryl's a little surprised at how much work just Rick and Shane had done, so quickly. He bites his thumb. They should burn these things. Stuff that could cause sickness, disease, you burned it off, got it as far away as possible.<br/>
<br/>
"Think we should burn 'em," he muttered. Rick looks at him. "Chinaman gets all emotional, says it's not the thing to do, we just follow him along? These people need to know -" Take charge, is what he's trying to say to Rick. Make the decisions. It's the right one, to burn them. Who knows if graves will even work, if it'll seep into the ground, make the plants sick, make the animals who eat those plants sick? The thought makes his skin crawl. Walker deer and walker rabbits and squirrels, a forest of walkers. <br/>
<br/>
"Need to know what the rules are," he mumbles.</p><p>And Rick looks at him, frankly, and says, "There are no rules."<br/>
<br/>
Which Daryl scoffs at. Course there are rules. There are always rules. Nature's ones, which don't change, and man's ones, which do, and breaking those rules gets you places you don't want to be. That's how the world works. That's order. Pretending there aren't any rules is weak, and he finds himself disappointed in Rick as Lori spouts some shit about what people do, looking right at him the whole time. Like he isn't a person. He just sneers and picks at his nails, the grime and the dirt underneath them. Well, whatever. If being a person means you get something out of watching a weak woman drag her sister's body into a hole, watch kids cry for people they didn't even really know, watch Sophia and Carol stand, stone faced, as Glenn, with his twiggy little arms, starts to drag Ed into the hole -  <br/>
<br/>
"I'll do it," he snarls, and he shoves Glenn out of the way. Ed's big, but not that much bigger then his old man, and he'd dragged him to the couch or the bed plenty of times after a bender. Plus, Ed's got half himself chewed away. Makes it easier. He doesn't look at Carol or Sophia as he does it. He doesn't know why he does it, really - maybe just so he doesn't have to spend fifteen minutes watching Glenn huff and puff his way over the dirt. <br/>
<br/>
When he hops back out, Ed done, Glenn gives him a small smile, and Daryl glowers, goes back behind the rest of the pack. He didn't do it for him. </p>
<hr/><p>The adults are talking about where to go next, and Daryl's doing inventory. The tents he and his dad had pitched are trashed - trampled by walkers and scared people. The stuff inside is okay, mostly - he's sifting his way through his dad's shit. There's not much - he took the guns to Atlanta, his knife isn't here. There's his stash, at the bottom of his bag, crystals and pills and powder, and Daryl quickly starts shoving the sleeping bag in over it as he hears footsteps coming up behind him. <br/>
<br/>
"You packing?"<br/>
<br/>
It's fucking Rick. Daryl grunts. <br/>
<br/>
"Tryin' a see what's salvageable," he mutters, when it seems like Rick isn't going away. </p><p>"We're going to have a meeting in a couple minutes. Talk about our options."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl squints at him. <br/>
<br/>
"Where we're going next."<br/>
<br/>
"A'right."<br/>
<br/>
But Rick doesn't go. "You're a part of that meeting, Daryl."<br/>
<br/>
That does make Daryl stop. "Why? I ain't goin' nowhere."<br/>
<br/>
Rick frowns. "You can't just stay here by yourself, son."<br/>
<br/>
"Ain't your son," Daryl says. "Can't make me go nowhere."<br/>
<br/>
"This camp ain't safe anymore. We've all seen that now. It's too close to Atlanta. They're moving further out, looking for food. You can't stay here alone. There'd be nobody here to watch your back."<br/>
<br/>
"An' whose fault is that?" Rick looks guilty. "Sides, where'm I gonna go? 'M not here when my dad gets back, he'll be pissed."<br/>
<br/>
A long, long moment. Sad Eye Grimes is back. "Daryl -"<br/>
<br/>
"What? You don't think he'll come back for me?" Daryl's voice cracks a little as he says it. He knows his dad won't. He might come back, sure, but not for him. Or not just for him. He'd come for his tent and his pickup, his drugs at the bottom of the backpack and, if he proved useful, his boy.<br/>
<br/>
"Just - we don't know it's him took that van. Could have been anyone. Guillermo's group -"<br/>
<br/>
"They'd'a said if they took it," Daryl butts in. <br/>
<br/>
"Sure, but they prove that the city's not empty. Could have been anybody. And - that blood loss is no joke. Could be he did take it and on his way back, something happened."<br/>
<br/>
"We'd'a seen 'im," Daryl says. "On our way."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe. But Daryl, that's just too many variables. You can't stay here waiting for someone you don't know will come. Not by yourself. You're just a kid."</p><p>Daryl flares up. "What, so you think your kid's fucking weak that means I am? 'M not! Ain't no fucking kid, neither, 'm sixteen."<br/>
<br/>
"Lori says you're fourteen and I'm not leaving a fourteen year old here to fend for himself. I can't."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl spits. "Fucked up. First you kill my dad, then you fuckin' kidnap me?"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't -" Rick takes a deep breath. "You're right that what happened to your dad is on me, but it's also on him. I hadn't done what I did, might have been T-Dog didn't come back. Or Morales, or Jacqui, or Andrea, or Glenn."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't give a shit 'bout no chinamen or coons," Daryl grunts, and he sees Rick's face tighten. Daryl tenses too, but Rick's face smoothes out a second later and that level, straight voice is back. Cop voice, Daryl thinks. For talking down killers and crazies. And it's the voice Rick uses for him. <br/>
<br/>
"It was a bad situation, and I'm sorry for the way it's ended. I'm not saying you need to come with us. We could take you somewhere. If you have any family -"<br/>
<br/>
Daryl spits. "Only family I got's dead or missin'." <em>Merle</em>, he thinks suddenly. If they could get him to Merle -</p><p>"Well, we don't have to decide now. But come to the meeting. Have your say."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl scoffs - since when did any of them want to hear anything he had to say? - but he stands up. He ignores Rick's offer of a hand, goes instead for his crossbow. Throws it over his shoulder and gets away from Rick, goes and hovers at the edge of the circle where are the people left are gathering. </p>
<hr/><p>Wasn't much a meeting. Shane said his shit, then everyone scattered. Daryl goes back, reassembles his tent - the poles to his dads are snapped, which sucks because Dad's was bigger and newer, but Merle's old one has done him fine so far. He takes every thing from his dad's tent and crawls inside his own, taking that inhale as he sorts through what's worth keeping and what's trash. <br/>
<br/>
He keeps the drugs. They're useful. Better than money, now. He's got three sleeping bags somehow, and he tests them out, see which is best. He wonders if Carol and Sophia have sleeping bags now or if they're all covered with Ed's blood, but whatever. They ain't his problem. Still, he rolls up the bags careful. Might be someone could use them, and Dixon's don't waste. He takes the warmest sleeping bag, the few remaining MREs, the canteens, the tarp from under his dad's tent, and sorts through his dad's clothes.The idea of wearing them makes his skin itch, but he needs something - the shirt he had Carol wash is long past saving, covered in even more blood and shit, and he's close enough to his dad's height his things'll fit him okay. He rips the sleeves off the shirts - if he didn't, they'd hang over his hands, make him look like a fucking kid playing dress up, and Georgia's hot. He takes his dad's socks, too - first thing he learned camping was keeping his feet dry did a lot, and socks could be mittens too, when nights got cold. The jeans he leaves - he's got two pairs fit him fine, better than his dad's would have. And then the only thing left is the belt.</p><p>He goes hot and then cold when he sees it. Normally his dad wore it, but he must have left it behind for the run. He makes himself reach out, touch it. It's just a fucking belt. Black leather, silver buckle, worn as shit. He almost expects a shock when he picks it up, but nothing. It's just a fucking belt. <br/>
<br/>
Still, there's a rustle from outside as someone shakes his tent and he almost passes out. It's Dad. Dad's back and he's gonna see Daryl going through his shit and he's gonna - </p><p>"Daryl? It's Carol." He unzips the door and crawls out and she's waiting out there with a plate of food. "Thought maybe you'd be hungry. It's not much - just what's left of the cans, you know. But -"<br/>
<br/>
It really isn't much - maybe three or four spoons of beans swimming on a paper plate. Daryl feels a stab of guilt. "Naw, I - 'm fine," he says. He has those MREs, tucked in his backpack, he could - </p><p>But those are for emergencies, Dad said. If he came back and Daryl had - </p><p>
  <em>He's not coming back, you fucking idiot. Stop thinking that.</em>
</p><p>"Got some jerky left. You can - give it to your girl, if you - yeah." He nods. Carol smiles at him. <br/>
<br/>
"Sophia's already eaten. She's okay. Here." She holds it out to him. "It's your share. Do with it what you want." <br/>
<br/>
He takes it from her, the guilt almost a solid thing is his stomach. He could go give it to Sophia later. Or Carl. He wouldn't take it when he had something else he could eat. Hell, he could go check the snares one last time, see what was in them. <br/>
<br/>
"Rick said you're thinking about not coming with us. To the CDC."<br/>
<br/>
"Din't gimme a fucking choice," Daryl mutters, biting his thumb. Looks at Carol. "Sorry."<br/>
<br/>
"For what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Cussin'. Y'all don't like it."<br/>
<br/>
Carol smiles at him. "You can cuss in front of me all you want, as long as you don't cuss at me. I know the difference."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl looks at her. Nods, slowly. Looks back down at the plate. </p><p>"We'd worry about you, if you stayed."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, Rick 'ready told me. Fuckin' honor an' duty shit, can't leave a kid alone, whatever."<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't mean Rick. I meant me and Sophia." <br/>
<br/>
He looks at her. "Rick thinks he won't come," he finds himself saying. It's not what he meant to say, but he doesn't know what he meant to say. <br/>
<br/>
"Do you think he'll come?"<br/>
<br/>
His head rears back, furious, ready to bite her head off. She doesn't know him and she doesn't know his dad, just because one time he sat next to her for an hour when he was doing work doesn't mean she knows shit about him, her and her stupid fucking kid with the stupid frilly pajamas, they don't know -</p><p>But she doesn't look smug or superior or anything. She looks - curious. Or at least, she looks like she really wants to hear the answer. <br/>
<br/>
He shrugs instead. Looks back down.  <br/>
<br/>
"You have to make your own decision. You're not a kid, exactly, but you're not a grown up either. Rick and Shane could try and make you come, and you could run off the second their backs were turned and head right back here. You're old enough you can't be made to do something you don't want to do." <br/>
<br/>
Daryl thinks about his dad, about the belt in his tent, the scars on his back. There are plenty of ways of making someone do something, and Rick and Shane could do any of them to him. But Carol knows that. So why's she saying something different?</p><p>"I just want you to know - it's your life, Daryl. You should choose what you want to do with it." She smiles at him. Points at the plate. "You eat that."<br/>
<br/>
"Thought you said I could do what I want with it."<br/>
<br/>
She grins at him. "I did, didn't I?" She starts to walk away. Turns back. "Daryl?"<br/>
<br/>
He tenses up. "Uh huh?"<br/>
<br/>
"We would worry. Sophia and me." And with that she's gone.<br/>
<br/>
In the end, he eats the fucking beans. </p>
<hr/><p>The next day, the fight isn't about whether or not Daryl's coming. It's about whose taking Will's pickup. </p><p>They won't let Daryl drive it. Even though he's been driving since he was twelve on backroads and it's his dad's goddamn truck, no one will let him. He'd have his fucking learner's permit in a year and they won't let him take the car. At first they're saying they'll leave it behind, which makes Daryl nervous. If his dad comes back and they left his truck here and something happened to it, he'd - </p><p>Stop, he tells himself. If his dad comes back and the truck is gone, it's the same problem. And he'll probably never see his dad again. </p><p>But all the men have cars, except for Jim whose sick, and Jacqui is riding in the RV with him, and when Glenn gets suggested he stiffens. He let a chink drive his dad's car and he crashed it, he'd be - </p><p>Stop. Stop.</p><p>But in the end, it's not Jim or Jacqui or Andrea or Glenn who drives it. It's Carol. </p><p>"I learned to drive on an old beater like that," she says simply. "Should be able to fit three across in the front - Sophia's not big." <br/>
<br/>
"I thought Sophia was going to ride with us!" Carl pipes up, and Lori shushes him. <br/>
<br/>
"Carol, we can still take Sophia, if you'd rather - or Daryl, you could ride with us, leave Sophia and her mother some space. After everything, maybe they want -"<br/>
<br/>
"It's his father's car. It's no trouble," Carol says. And then they're off. <br/>
<br/>
It is trouble, though, because they fit in the front seat, but it's a tight enough fit that Sophia is bumping along next to him every pothole and gravel road. It's not that it bothers him but he doesn't like being touched, not without knowing, and Sophia herself can't help it. He finds himself pulling tighter and tighter against the window, looking out over the trees and the fields as they leave the woods behind. The tent and the sleeping bags are in the back - he kept all three, in case - and he wonders what'll happen at the CDC. No hunting, probably, not in Atlanta. No tracking, no sleeping under the stars. He wonders how long it'll take everyone to treat him like a kid again, when he's not carrying around a crossbow and providing for everyone. Not that they treat him like an adult now, but they know he can do stuff. He wonders, at the CDC, how long it'll take before Lori has him in fucking school with Carl and Sophia. <br/>
<br/>
And then, after leaving Jim to die on the side of the road (but nicer then the way the left his dad to die), he finds out. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. TS-19 (Part 1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Daryl's never had his blood taken before. Everyone else is just lining up, like it's no big deal, but Daryl's hardly ever seen a doctor before. The school nurse a couple times after fights and that time he broke his wrist dirtbiking with Merle and the time his dad had broken his arm. Other than that, they steered clear. "Don't need none of that doctor shit. Pump you full of chemicals, tell you you can't eat meat, stick you fulla needles. Ain't worth it," his dad had said, and so they'd stayed away. What he says in the elevator, about doctors not normally packing heat, he's mostly being a smart ass, but also he's a little curious. Do they? Is that what they do if you tell them you don't want chemicals in you? Probably not. But still. Worth asking.<br/>
<br/>
Everyone else is just holding out their arm and so Daryl does too. It's weird watching his blood come out like that, shooting up into the little tube, neat and controlled instead of spilling out everywhere. He picks his right arm because it only has one scar, a little round cigarette burn. The other one's got a couple of them, on the other side of his elbow. It's easier to pass it off as something else, something accidental, if it's not one of a set. <br/>
<br/>
Jenner just looks at the burn, then up at Daryl. He puts the needle in his arm and Daryl flinches. <br/>
<br/>
"You do that?" Jenner asks quietly, under his breath. His fingers are pushing down on the needle, too close to the mark. Daryl frowns at him, confused. Why would he burn his own goddam arm? <br/>
<br/>
"Naw," he mutters, and he guesses that's enough of an answer, because then he's moving away, pushing the gauze onto his arm, watching as Carol gets hers done. <br/>
<br/>
Sophia's scared of the needle. She's next to Daryl, watching her mama do it, her eyes filling up, her lip wobbling dangerously. Daryl looks at her, lost. He's never had to deal with a crying girl before. He doesn't know what to do. He'd ignore her but her mama's over there getting stuck with needles, so there's no one else. <br/>
<br/>
"Ain't that bad," he mutters. She looks up at him, lip still trembling, but less.<br/>
<br/>
"Really?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Hell, ain't hardly a prick. Had bug bites worse'n that."<br/>
<br/>
"But you go camping, right? So you've probably had some really bad bug bites."<br/>
<br/>
He looks at her. Her lip isn't wobbling anymore. He didn't know better, he'd think she was laughing at him. <br/>
<br/>
"You been camping too now," he says instead. "Had some bites yourself."<br/>
<br/>
She's not laughing anymore. She bites her lip. <br/>
<br/>
"I don't like getting hurt," she says softly. Daryl looks down at his own arm. The burn, the gauze, the little tiny spot of blood seeping through the layers of white.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't hurt like that," he says quickly, quietly. Then he moves somewhere else and Sophia goes and sits on her mother's lap and gets her test. <br/>
<br/>
"Don't worry," she tells Carl, who looks paper white as he steps up for his. "It's like a bug bite."</p>
<hr/><p>They dinner is better than anything Daryl's ever eaten in his life, he thinks. It's spaghetti and red sauce and hot and salty and it doesn't taste like the inside of a tin can. He's slurping it down fast as he can when he notices how loud the room is getting, sees the bottles lining the table. Suddenly the spaghetti turns to ice in his stomach. <br/>
<br/>
He's drank before, of course. Had the moonshine out of his dad's still at nine, on a dare from Merle, and it wasn't like there was ever a shortage of it at his house. Not wine, though. That was his mother's drink. Dad didn't keep it around. And he didn't exactly care if Daryl drank, but he wasn't looking to share his supply with his shitty kid. Wine isn't hard liquor, he remembers that much, but maybe it's because no one's eaten a real meal in days, but they all seem trashed. Dale's trying to pour Carl some wine and everyone is laughing, Glenn is practically cackling in the corner, his face red, and everyone is getting loose and sloppy. Even Carol, he notices, has a glass, but just one, a small one, and she's taking little sips, not practically double fisting it like the others. He looks at Sophia but she's laughing too - Carl is pulling silly faces, wiping his tongue with his napkin, shaking his head like a wet dog, and everyone's getting louder and louder except for Shane, whose getting quieter, and Daryl, who says nothing at all. </p><p>He's not scared of drunk people. That'd have been useless in his life - his dad and Merle drank all the time, but that didn't mean Daryl liked it. Even Merle changed when he was drunk - he'd never hit Daryl or anything, but he could be mean. He'd call him Darylina and flick Daryl's nose with his finger, hard, and he'd laugh at Daryl, which Daryl hated. His friends weren't a picnic either. Drink did things to people. And drugs. Maybe when he was older and he could do it himself he'd figured out what was so great about it, but now - </p><p>Now he just wishes everyone would stop. He knows Dad and Merle, at least, he know what they're like, how to stay out of their way. He doesn't know these fucking people, none of them, not even Carol, he doesn't know what they'll do now that they're practically floating. <br/>
<br/>
It almost makes him relieved when Shane breaks the party atmosphere and Jenner explains about opting out.</p>
<hr/><p>Everyone seems sobered up some by the conversation, but that's all out the window when they hear about the hot water. <br/>
<br/>
They all spread out - there's a couple of rooms with couches, one with a conference table that T-Dog pushes out into the hallway and replaces with cots. It's more room than they've had in a while, but it's still not enough for everyone to have their own room. <br/>
<br/>
No one seems to notice that Daryl isn't bunking up with anyone. He had enough of that, the night after the attack at camp, crammed into the RV. He can't doing it again, especially not tonight, when everyone's drunk and he doesn't know what they'll do. Better to stay out of everyone's way. <br/>
<br/>
The kids shower first and get into pajamas - Sophia in the dumb matching set again, Carl wearing flannel pants Daryl thought people only wore as costumes on TV - and Carol is walking them down the hall to the rec room when she sees Daryl. He hid his pack in the rec room, under one of the sofas, loaded the crossbow just in case, then, on second thought, unloaded it, in case one of the kids found it. He thought he'd wait till everyone else went out, then he'd go back and sleep in there, if it was still empty. <br/>
<br/>
"Hey there," she said. "Figured out where you're staying tonight?"<br/>
<br/>
Daryl nods. He knows where - anywhere he can get some fucking space. <br/>
<br/>
"Sophia and Carl and I are going to go to the rec room. I think the showers are free, if you want to take one."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl freezes. He's dirty, he knows - hasn't really washed his hair since this all went down and it's started to grow out, and his hands have a permanent layer of dirt. They'd worked hard, too, the past couple days - sure he smells, like teenage boy sweat and walker blood. He must have reeked that whole car ride. Daryl feels the tips of his ears go red and he nods. <br/>
<br/>
"The hot water's really nice," Carl says. "It's like a swimming pool!" <br/>
<br/>
"It's a shower though," Sophia adds. "Not a pool." <br/>
<br/>
"Duh it's not a pool, I just meant it's like - like going swimming in a hot tub or something, it's like -"<br/>
<br/>
And then they're gone, down the hallway, and Daryl finds his way to the showers. <br/>
<br/>
They are empty, but there's an empty bottle rolling around the floor in there, and that makes Daryl uneasy. Plus, he forgot - his spare clothes are in his pack, in the rec room. He can't go in now, or they'll know he didn't shower. He'll just wait for Carol and them to leave, he thinks. Once they go, he'll get his clothes, fresh ones, and he'll shower. He will. <br/>
<br/>
He can hear everyone else settling down - some murmurs coming from the toilet section of the bathroom, Glenn singing something off key and T-Dog laughing, Lori emerging from her room, hair wet, and making her way somewhere with a glass of wine in her hand. Finally, he looks up from his hiding spot and sees Carol making her way down the hall. Sophia's behind her, talking to Carl, and they drop him at the room Lori went out of and then make their way further down, to the room they'd picked. Families had claimed their own. <br/>
<br/>
 He counts to sixty three times, to make sure no one's going back for anything, and then he makes his way to the rec room. <br/>
<br/>
The first thing he hears when he opens the door is "No, you're drunk," and that's how he sees the room isn't empty. Shane's there, Shane and Lori, and Shane has his hand around Lori's neck and he's talking, talking, he sounds like Merle when he's drunk, like his dad with the women he brought home sometimes. The cabin wasn't big. Daryl could hear everything. </p><p>And then Lori's saying no and she scratched Shane's face and then, when Shane finally backs off her, she sees Daryl there, standing in the door, frozen. <br/>
<br/>
"Oh God, Daryl," she says, her hand over her mouth, and Shane turns around and sees him and Daryl is gone, he's running, because he knows that look and it never means anything good, not for him, and he's almost to the stairs when Shane grabs his arms and slams him into the wall. </p><p>Stupid to run. Shane's a fucking cop, chases down tweakers and carjackers all day, of course he can chase down a fucking fourteen year old. Shane's got his hand around Daryl's throat in a grotesque parody of how he just had his hand around Lori's and Daryl can feel his breathing quicken, his breath - </p><p>"The fuck you doing, boy? Spying on us?"<br/>
<br/>
Daryl shakes his head, frantically, feels the pressure around his neck tighten. "Wasn't," he says, remembering the chokehold, how long it took him to get his breath back after. "Wasn't, left stuff in there, was just gettin' it, didn' see nothin, din't -"</p><p>"Shut up." Shane pushes with his hand a little and Daryl shuts up. He can smell sour wine and feel Shane's breath on his face and see the lines Lori's nails made on his neck, three of them. But she's got Rick around, she can mark up Shane and run and get help and Daryl has nobody, nobody who even knows where he is, nobody who even - </p><p>"Listen to me," Shane says, so quietly Daryl almost can't even hear him. "I don't know what the fuck you thought you saw, but you're wrong, all right? You're wrong. That's my best friend's wife in there. You understand that?"<br/>
<br/>
Daryl nods, small, because he can't really move his neck and he doesn't want to. "Din't see nothin'," he says again. "I didn', I just opened the door and then you were runnin' at me, man, didn' see nothin', I swear -"</p><p>"Listen, I said, don't talk!" Daryl shuts up. His fucking mouth. Always fucks him up. "You try and say anything to anyone about what you think you saw in there, you're gonna be sorry. Y'hear?"<br/>
<br/>
Daryl nods. Feels the pressure on his neck ease up a little. <br/>
<br/>
"Nobody'd even believe you anyway. Fucking trash kid." <br/>
<br/>
Daryl flinches at a sudden movement, but it's just Shane letting go of his neck. Daryl doesn't move, even though all he wants to do is rub at it, because who knows if that'll set Shane off again. But Shane seems done for now. He's looking at Daryl with heavy lidded eyes, and he turns around. <br/>
<br/>
"Get the fuck out of my sight, man. Jesus."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl doesn't know where to go - to the rec room to get his things? Up the stairs, to find some dark corner in the echoey abandoned parts of the CDC to hide in? To the showers? In the end, Shane just hisses "I said get," and Daryl is running again, he doesn't even know where, just away, away, away. <br/>
<br/>
He ends up at the fucking showers. That bottle's still there, tipped on it's side, and Daryl wants to pick it up and smash it to pieces, slam it and slam it until it's just splinters of glass left, but that might wake somebody and what if they were the person who'd drank it? What if it wasn't just Shane roaming around, acting - </p><p>"I wasn't myself," one of his dad's girlfriends had said to him once. She'd been high on something, oxy maybe, and Daryl had gotten her makeup case wet - it'd been sitting on the goddamn sink, of course it was going to get wet - and she'd smacked him in the face, not that hard, but her ring had busted his lip. The next morning, when she'd come down, she'd been sitting at the table smoking and she'd grimaced when she saw his face. <br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry that happened. I wasn't myself. Sometimes when I'm high I do - dumb things. But I won't do that again. All right? I just wasn't myself."<br/>
<br/>
And Daryl had nodded and eaten a Pop Tart - that was the best thing about that girlfriend, she'd bought groceries when she was there - and gone on his way, but he thought that was a bullshit answer. Drugs didn't change who you were. Neither did drink. It just peeled a layer back, let other people see the shit you wanted to hide, and one layer down, most people were mean and cruel and liked to hurt other people. Shane wasn't any different that way from anyone else. <br/>
<br/>
In the end, he takes the shower. Hoping to stop any swelling - how would he explain showing up in the morning with a fucking handprint around his neck? - he doesn't use the hot water. Instead he makes it icy cold, as cold as he can stand, and he washes as good as he can using the soap from the dispensers near the sink. He just puts on his old clothes afterwards - they're not that bad, could be worse. And then he grabs his stuff from the rec room - listening outside the door for three hundred seconds, just in case. He's in and out like lightning, crossbow in hands, pack slung over one shoulder, and he goes upstairs, to the dark and scary entrance hall, and finds a corner to make a little next in and curls up. <br/>
<br/>
For the first safe night he's had since the dead started walking, he can't relax enough to sleep. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. TS-19 (Part 2)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, that's it - first season, down! Thanks Covid-19, finished a fic in a day! Now on to season 2...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Daryl doesn't come back down from the lobby until the very end of breakfast. He puts his stuff right outside the dining room door, peeks in. <br/>
<br/>
"Morning, Daryl," T-Dog says cheerfully. "Want some eggs? I do 'em good!" </p><p>T-Dog's the only one who looks cheerful. Glenn is moaning as Jacqui rubs his back, Rick is struggling to open a thing of aspirin like he's never seen a bottle before, and Lori - </p><p>Lori is staring at his neck, and he tugs at his collar. When he'd checked last night after his shower, it was just a little red. It feels sore now, but not worse than a cold or anything. <br/>
<br/>
"Daryl? Eggs?" T-Dog is already scraping some onto a plate for him. "Take it to go, though - Jenner's got something to show us." <br/>
<br/>
That's when Daryl see Shane. He's getting up, bringing a to-go coffee cup with him, and for a moment, seeing Daryl, there's something in his eyes - remorse? more anger? - but it's gone quick and Shane is pushing past him, ignoring him, and following Jenner back to the big main room. <br/>
<br/>
The eggs are too yellow against the plate and Daryl feels a little sick, but he makes himself eat them as he walks - no point wasting good food when he doesn't know where the next meal will come from. He's focusing on his eggs, choking them down as he walks, and he doesn't notice Lori coming up next to him. <br/>
<br/>
"What happened to your neck?" Lori asks, in what she probably thinks is a very sneaky voice. But T-Dog, right ahead of them, turns around and starts staring at Daryl's neck. Daryl pulls back. <br/>
<br/>
"Damn - something in the water? First Shane, now you! You do it in your sleep too?"<br/>
<br/>
"Didn' do nothin' new," Daryl mutters. "Been like that. Since 'fore Dad left."<br/>
<br/>
T-Dog immediately looks a little chagrined, and turns back around. It's the first time he's even implied to anyone that an injury might have come from his father, and of course it's the only time he's lying. Lori waits for the rest of the group to get a little farther ahead, then starts talking again. <br/>
<br/>
"What happened last night? I tried to find you but couldn't."<br/>
<br/>
"Took a shower," Daryl grunts. <br/>
<br/>
"That's not what I mean."<br/>
<br/>
He looks at her. She's looking at his neck and, maybe without realizing it, is touching her own. "Daryl. Did Shane -"<br/>
<br/>
"Couldn' catch me. 'M too fast for him."<br/>
<br/>
Lori doesn't look like she believes it. Maybe she knows how fast Shane is. "If Shane did something to you, you need to tell me, all right? That's - not okay. If he -" </p><p>"Didn' do shit," Daryl says. The eggs are getting stuck in his throat a little but he keeps eating them. "Tol' you, that piggy fuck couldn't catch me."<br/>
<br/>
"Hon. If -"<br/>
<br/>
"Damn, lady, can't you hear?" Daryl hisses, keeping one eye on Shane's curly black head at the front of the pack. "Said he didn' do nothin'! Didn' even see nothin' anyway - don' know why y'all are so het up over getting caught playing fuckin' foosball." </p><p>And with that, he shovels down the last bite of eggs and speeds up, away from Lori, looking for a place to set his plate.  </p>
<hr/><p>He doesn't know if he gets everything Jenner is saying - something about the way the brains affected, what it looks like when a person becomes a walker, the blue lights sparking out and going black and then coming back red, then the gunshot slicing through the screen - then all of a sudden the computer voice says 'decontamination' and everything starts happening fast. Decontamination makes him think of the time he got lice in fourth grade - Merle cussing and trying to wash his hair with the lice shampoo until he got frustrated and just shaved Daryl bald. Decontamination, that's what the shampoo was supposed to do. Kill the lice. Get the bad stuff out. The men go off to investigate the generator - Shane goes too, so Daryl doesn't even try. Carol and Sophia are going downstairs, so he just follows them. He makes sure he has his pack and his bow, though. Catch him leaving it anywhere else again. <br/>
<br/>
But as fate would have it, Carol leads them back to the rec room. She's looking at the books like Daryl looked at that spaghetti last night - like she's never seen anything so good in her life. Sophia's got that doll with her, cradled in her arm. She sees Daryl hanging in the doorway, unsure whether or not to go in. <br/>
<br/>
"Mama's getting a book," she says simply. "Want one?"<br/>
<br/>
"We're all getting books," Carol says. She looks worried a little, around her eyes, but she smiles at Sophia. "We've run through everything Dale brought, haven't we? And it's nice. To have something to read."<br/>
<br/>
"Reading's a good activity. It's quiet," Sophia explains, and something dims further in Carol's eyes. <br/>
<br/>
"Reading's fun," she says softly. "You like to read."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," Sophia agrees amiably. She goes over to the shelf of books and wrinkles her nose. "But these are all grown up books." <br/>
<br/>
Carol smiles down at her, smoothes a hand over her hair. "I bet we can find something for you that'll suit." She looks at Daryl. "What about it, Daryl? Should we look for you too?"<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't know what to say. His dad hadn't held with reading - Daryl didn't know if they had any real books in the house, just Merle's pornos and a copy of The Turner Diaries with a torn cover, which his dad had said was the only book anyone needed but Daryl had struggled getting through the first chapter. He could read - he wasn't illiterate or anything - but his dad wasn't raising no fucking sissy democrat fag. If he saw Daryl with a book in his hands, that meant Daryl didn't have enough to do. So Daryl just shrugged. <br/>
<br/>
"Haven't read any a these," he mumbles into his thumb. He's biting it. <em>Decontamination</em> echoes in his ears. <br/>
<br/>
"Oh, well, I think this might be something you'd like. You too, Sophia," Carol says, and she hands Daryl something. There's a painting on the cover, the kind of painting that's meant to make you think it's a photo, and it's of two wolves fighting, one of their teeth bared in a snarl. </p><p>" 'S'about wolves?" Daryl asks. <br/>
<br/>
"Yes. And a dog who get stolen from his home and sent to Alaska to be a sled dog and he spends some time with the wolves. He can't decide if he should be a sled dog or a wild wolf."<br/>
<br/>
"The dogs talk?" he asks, wrinkling his own nose. He wasn't some fucking kid, needing a book about a talking dog.<br/>
<br/>
Carol laughs, but not mean. "Sort of. Not really. It's not like Homeward Bound."<br/>
<br/>
Daryl doesn't know what that is, so he just nods and takes the book. Looks at the wolves on the cover. Slips it into his pack. <br/>
<br/>
Carol's got a stack of four books and Sophia has two when the air conditioning stops. <br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p>After that everything's real fast - the world is going dark around them and the doors are slamming shut and Jenner is screaming, screaming about Ebola, small pox, anthrax. Daryl doesn't get it a hundred percent but he knows it means they're gonna die and the thing that really pushes him over the edge is Carol. Carol is clutching Sophia, her mouth trembling, going "No...no," and that sets Daryl off. He's lunging for Jenner, yelling at the sumbitch, and then he picks up one of the bottles and throws it at the door. <br/>
<br/>
"Open this damn door," he hollers, and Jenner doesn't react, but suddenly everyone else is. </p><p>Shane comes running at Daryl and for a moment Daryl thinks he's gonna shove him up against the wall again for breaking the bottle but that anger's all aimed at the door. He's slamming against it and someone throws Daryl a fire axe and he's slamming against it too. Any time he pulls back, he can hear Carol crying behind him, so he hits and he hits and he keeps hitting. <br/>
<br/>
"Those doors are designed to withstand a rocket launcher," he hears Jenner smug behind him, and Daryl whips around with the axe, so angry, like the day after a whupping when all he wants to do is make someone else feel the way he's feeling -</p><p>"Your head ain't," he yells but then there are hands on him, shoving him back, and he leans over, breathes deep, tries to pull himself back together. <br/>
<br/>
"This isn't right," he hears Carol sob. "My daughter doesn't deserve to die like this."<br/>
<br/>
Shane's shoving a gun in Jenner's face, and then he's screaming, screaming and shooting and Daryl's ducked as far back as he can because this is the Shane he saw last night, this is the Shane one layer down and he's out in front of everyone and - </p><p>But then Rick is talking, talking to the doc like words do anything, like people respond to anything other than fists and guns and axes, and he starts slamming against the door again because if he doesn't he'll go for Jenner again and smash in his ugly fucking face -</p><p>But then the door is open, it's open and he's right there. "Come on!" he yells, and he's bolting, running up the hallway, scooping up his stuff, grabbing the gun bag, his bow, and, after one last thought, that dumb doll Sophia's always carting around that she dropped in the chaos. Shane's there too, grabbing bags, and then they're running, up the stairs by lit flashlight, axe in hand, as T-Dog slams the glass with a chair and Shane whales on the windows. They just keep yelling, Shane's shooting, but nothing's working. <br/>
<br/>
"The glass won't break?!" Sophia asks, and Daryl slams his fists into the glass so hard he wonder if they'll break. He'll be a charred skeleton with broken hand bones, a pile of dust like his mama, nothing, nothing -</p><p>And then they're ducking and covering and the glass is broken and they are free free free and he's running for the truck, darting between geeks and slamming around with his bow, smacking anything in his way, and then he's jumping in the driver's seat, Carol and Sophia running over the grass behind him, Carol holding Sophia's hand, and he throws himself over them as the air behind them is set on fire.</p>
<hr/><p>The pickup is quiet as they drive away from the CDC. Daryl wonders if their ears are ringing like his are, if that's why they aren't talking, if that's why Carol hasn't told him to pull over and let her drive yet. Instead she's sitting in the passenger seat, Sophia in her lap, her forehead pressed against the back of her daughter's head.<br/>
<br/>
"Jacqui stayed," Sophia says after an hour, and Daryl stares at her. He'd missed that, when he was banging half to hell. "And Andrea. And Dale."<br/>
<br/>
"No, sweetheart, no - Andrea and Dale got out," Carol says, kissing the top of her daughter's head. "They got out, baby, they're in the RV, I saw them."<br/>
<br/>
Sophia just nods. "But not Jacqui?" she asks.</p><p>"No, baby. Not Jacqui." <br/>
<br/>
Sophia nods again. And that's all that is said for a long time. <br/>
<br/>
It's getting dark when the RV starts to slow down and everyone slows to a stop behind it. The road here isn't totally blocked. Their caravan feels noticeable. <br/>
<br/>
"We should stop," Rick says. "We've got high ground here. Higher, you count the top of the RV. We should take a minute. Regroup." He looks at Shane. "Figure out the best course to take to get to Fort Benning." <br/>
<br/>
Shane doesn't do anything for a long second. Then, he nods. <br/>
<br/>
"Just set up in the cars I think, for the night," Rick continues. "Not worth setting up camp, and easier if we need to get away in a hurry. T-Dog, Glenn, if y'all could set up the trip lines -" They're already doing it, fishing the lines of tin cans on string out of the back of T-Dog's church van. "Any food or water, just - be smart with it." <br/>
<br/>
Everyone just nods. They're so quiet, everyone. <br/>
<br/>
"Got sleeping bags in the back," Daryl says to Carol. He's biting his thumb. "Got the tent too. Could set it up there, in the truck bed. If you want cover."<br/>
<br/>
Carol nods. "Think we need it?" she asks, and she looks at the sky. "If it'll rain..."<br/>
<br/>
"Shouldn't," he says. He points at the sky, where it's turning crimson as the sun pulls behind the trees. "Red sky at night, sailor's delight, that shit." <br/>
<br/>
"I never knew what that meant." <br/>
<br/>
He shrugs. Bites him thumb. "Means good weather ahead." He sets out to making the back comfortable - the sleeping bags spread over the one sleeping pad, putting the tarp underneath to cushion them some from the metal of the truck bed. He looks at Carol. "Y'all can zip the bags together, if you want. Keep you warmer."<br/>
<br/>
"Where'll you sleep?" he hears a voice pipe up behind him. It's Sophia, that doll tucked back under her arm. <br/>
<br/>
" 'M - I kin sleep in the cab," he says, hooking a thumb at the driver's seat behind him. "More'n enough room for me." <br/>
<br/>
Carol looks at him. Nods. "Thanks, Daryl," she says softly as he zips the bags together. <br/>
<br/>
"What if it rains?" Sophia asks as Carol wraps her up to sleep. No frilly pajamas tonight - Carol's layering her up, extra pairs of socks and a long sleeves shirt and a lumpy knit sweater she scared up from somewhere. <br/>
<br/>
"Daryl just said it won't rain," Carol tells her, and for a minute Daryl feels his stomach clench. What if he's wrong? What if it does rain, what if -</p><p>But he pushes it away. There's such bigger things to deal with now then getting a little wet. If it does, he'll deal. He'll figure it out. <br/>
<br/>
"'Sides, under a tent you can't see nothin'," he says. He thinks of the MREs but that'd be a waste of water when they got a limited supply, plus everyone ate breakfast this morning so it ain't like they're gonna starve - but he digs out the last of the jerky and gives it to Sophia. She starts nibbling on it, and he waits for her to wrinkle her nose, to tell him it's weird - it's the homemade venison jerky they dried at the cabin so long ago - but she actually seems to like it as she chomps on it and looks up at him. <br/>
<br/>
"Like what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Stars and sh - stuff." He catches himself. Carol said she didn't mind cussing but better not to push it. "Constellations."<br/>
<br/>
"Like the Big Dipper?"</p><p>"Yeah," he grunts. It's fully dark now and he can see the others - piling into the RV, some, Shane sitting perched in his Jeep, T-Dog and Andrea cramming into separate rows in the church van. Lights from flashlights and camping lanterns and, in the RV, a careful candle in the window. <br/>
<br/>
"Do you know a lot of constellations, Daryl?"<br/>
<br/>
"Guess." What's a lot? He knows the ones he needs. <br/>
<br/>
"I don't know any constellations," Sophia said. Her mom is helping her into the sleeping bag, and she spreads her arms and legs out like a starfish and giggles. "Woah! It's ginormous!" <br/>
<br/>
Carol smiles. "Sleeping space for two," she says. "Budge over."<br/>
<br/>
"Will you teach me constellations, Daryl?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not tonight," Carol says softly. "Tonight we should rest. It's been a long day." <br/>
<br/>
"But I don't know any constellations and I'm gonna to be laying under them all night!"<br/>
<br/>
"Girl, you just said one. The Big Dipper," he clarifies. <br/>
<br/>
"But I don't know how to find it! I just know what it is."<br/>
<br/>
He looks at Carol. "S'a quick one," he mumbles. "Could teach her fast."<br/>
<br/>
Carol nods at him. "Okay, pookie," she says to Sophia. "Just one. Listen to Daryl, now."<br/>
<br/>
Sophia's big blue eyes are fastened on him, and he doesn't know how to show her with him standing up and her lying down. He clambers up into the truck bed gingerly and sort of squats next to her head. <br/>
<br/>
"A'right, girl. You see the North Star?" Sophia's shaking her head. Her eyes are off him now and focused on the sky. "Just let your eyes relax. North star's the brightest one in the sky. There." He points at it and Sophia actually gasps like he's done something special. <br/>
<br/>
"I see it! I see it!" <br/>
<br/>
"Good. Now you just - " He hesitates. He wouldn't like it if someone did this to him, but it's the way Merle had taught him. He didn't know how to explain it better. "Gimme your finger."<br/>
<br/>
Sophia almost clocks him in the face as his hand shoots straight up at him. <br/>
<br/>
"Like - a'right. That's the North Star, where your finger's at. Right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Right."<br/>
<br/>
"So to find the Big Dipper, you just -" He pulls her hand down, gently, until it looks roughly in line with the Big Dipper's pointer stars. "Them's the pointer stars."<br/>
<br/>
"What are they called?"<br/>
<br/>
Daryl shrugs. "Dunno. Pointer stars. They're the outside of the thing, you know. The, uh, spoon part."<br/>
<br/>
"Ladle," Carol adds quietly. He looks at her, but she's not looking at him, or at Sophia. She's staring at the stars. <br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. So then you just -" And he moves her arm along so her finger traces the outline of the dipper on the sky. "And that's it. Ain't nothin'."<br/>
<br/>
"Wow!" Sophia's eyes are so huge in her face they almost look like stars themselves. He lets go of her arm but her finger stays in the air. She's tracing the Big Dipper, over and over again. <br/>
<br/>
"Wow," Carol whispers. "Pretty cool. What do you say?"<br/>
<br/>
"Thank you, Daryl," Sophia parrots, and Daryl suddenly feels his whole face flush red. <br/>
<br/>
"Whatever," he mumbles, and he heads back to the cab of the truck. <br/>
<br/>
Curling up in his own sleeping bag, knees knocking against the steering wheel, he hears Sophia whisper from the back "Mama - I think that was actually two constellations. The North Star and the Big Dipper."<br/>
<br/>
"Wow. I think you're right. We're pretty lucky, huh?"<br/>
<br/>
And they are, Daryl thinks. Maybe they are.</p>
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